First dance
by Arienhod
Summary: Molly wasn't surprised Sherlock is a good dancer. He is good at everything. That is, everything except noticing a lone figure leaving the reception early.
1. Chapter 1: No one saw

**Standard disclaimer stands. I don't own anything. **

**If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes please let me know and I'll correct them. English is my 3rd language and sometimes words look correct to me even though they aren't.**

* * *

Yellow. That's the color of the dress she picked and Molly Hooper cursed herself a hundred times in the past hours for that. It was a lovely dress, and she liked the floral pattern very much, but it was almost the same yellow as the walls of the reception hall and Molly felt herself, once more, fading into background.

The fact she was alone certainly didn't help.

"Where is that fellow of yours? I expected him to be with you today?" Mrs. Hudson asked, leaning towards Molly. Greg Lestrade, who was seated between two women, was obviously curious about Tom's absence as well because he turned all his attention towards the young pathologist too.

"Tom couldn't get a day off today. They are getting new art this whole week for the gallery where he works and he needed to be present." She explained calmly and with a smile on her face. They didn't need to know how much his absence saddened her. This was the first wedding she attended since she met Tom and she hoped that now that they were engaged she would finally attend with a date. But alas no such luck.

As usual, Molly Hooper attended alone.

"Such a pity. Weddings are lovely events. And Mary and John look so happy together, don't they?" the older woman said looking at the main table, "I remember when I was so young and beautiful."

"You are still beautiful." Molly commented with a wide smile, the first honest one the whole day, "You have that 'proud mother' glow around you."

"I do love both boys like they are my own. And now there is Mary as well. Oh, I couldn't be happier."

Molly wished she could say the same.

She ignored the look Greg was sending her way and forced herself to smile. She perfected that smile over the years. By now it could fool everyone, including the world's only consulting detective. After all, how many times did he remained clueless as to how much his words hurt her? Molly honestly couldn't come up with an answer for that question.

She glanced out the window at her left and quietly sighed. It was such a lovely day and she wished it wouldn't be completely rude to come up with an excuse and leave the wedding reception right this moment. She could never do that to John and Mary.

Molly turned her attention to the happy couple and giggled as they looked around to see if anyone is watching and then kissed. They were like a pair of teenagers sneaking off to spend some time together and not responsible grownups. That was probably why they got along so great with Sherlock.

She ended up shaking her head to remove that thought from her mind. It didn't help. No matter what she did the consulting detective was always there, waiting patiently at the sidelines to invade her thoughts, sometimes at the most inappropriate times.

The man in question was just walking between the tables towards the main table and Molly couldn't help but look at him as he passed them. He was always dressed smartly. But there was something special about his suit today that made him look even more handsome. And it was obvious to Molly she wasn't the only one who noticed him.

She saw the looks the maid of honor was giving him. She even overheard something she said to Sherlock an hour ago right before the photographer took their picture. For some reason the woman mentioned sex.

"Still worried about the speech?" Greg leaned towards Molly and made her snap out of her thoughts. Something she was very grateful for, but she'll probably never admit to anyone, not even herself.

"I'm worried he'll get nervous and start deducing people. What if someone here did something illegal or having an affair. Can you imagine him saying something about that in front of so many people?"

"Don't have to." he said shrugging, "Remember the Christmas party at Baker Street? When he informed me my wife was having an affair?"

Molly shivered. She remembered that disaster of an evening all too well.

"Oh, hush you two." Mrs. Hudson waiver her hand at the two of them, "It's going to be just fine. Sherlock is taking this very seriously, in fact I saw him dancing waltz just this morning. He was rehearsing to make sure everything is perfect. He even taught John the steps." She paused for a second, "Although I probably shouldn't have mentioned that."

"Sherlock knows how to dance? Sherlock Holmes? The man who has absolutely no social skills?" the detective inspector was surprised and it showed all over his face. Molly had to giggle at the fact his mouth was wide open and he was looking at everyone's favorite landlady like she had two heads.

"He has social skills. He just… don't use them sometimes." She said shrugging.

"More like: never. I was minutes away from arresting a gang of very successful thieves when he made me believe he was in danger so I left everything to Donovan and rushed to Baker Street. And there I found him sitting at his laptop and calmly asking me if I knew any funny stories about John. I had a helicopter flying over the street as a backup."

The two women looked at him strangely. Mrs. Hudson was first to speak, "I don't think that had anything to do with his refusal to use social skills. I think that was because you were afraid for him."

"Pardon?"

Molly sighed, "He was dead, or at least everyone thought he was. It's normal that you were worried about him. Worried that this time he would really get killed."

Before Greg Lestrade could say anything to deny all that a plate was lowered in front of him. So he ignored their words, deciding not to think about whether they were true, and focused on the delicious meal in front of him.

* * *

It was some time later, after the plates were removed that the event Molly worried about the most was announced. The best man's speech. Sherlock had repeated the same phrase so many times she couldn't help but think about Kronk and his explanation about poison for Kuzco. Probably not the best thing to do cause she almost started to snicker. Luckily Molly managed to contain herself.

And then, somehow Sherlock's speech ended up making her sniff and she, among several other people at the reception, ended up wiping her eyes. She tried to tell herself it was because the consulting detective finally admitted he had a friend, and pointed out John's best characteristics in the progress. But a part of her, the little part she desperately tried to ignore, knew it was also because he just told the maid of honor she was beautiful. Or at east he hinted that he knew she was beautiful.

It was enough for a sick feeling develop in Molly Hooper's stomach. And that was also when the guilt showed up. She had Tom now, she shouldn't feel what she was feeling when a man, that wasn't her fiancé, called a woman, that wasn't her, beautiful. Not at all. But she did. And she intentionally refused to give those feelings a name, despite knowing very well what she was feeling.

After all she felt it before, that Christmas years ago, when Sherlock identified a dead woman by not her face.

And then things started to get silly. Sherlock was talking about their case, the case of a guardsman who was stabbed in a locked shower. And then he asked for ideas as to how it happened. And who better to ask then a man that works in New Scotland Yard.

Greg's face showed how annoyed he was with Sherlock for putting him in the spotlight. Especially when his theory caused everyone to snicker. And when he looked at Molly and saw her smiling too and grinned in her direction. That should have been a warning for her to stop but it was a warning she ignored. A mistake on her part.

"We have a pathologist here. So maybe Molly could help you out with that." The detective inspector said after everyone stopped snickering and before Sherlock managed to say anything else.

Instantly Sherlock looked at her, and with him everyone else, "Molly?"

She shrugged, not used to the attention of so many people, "Apparition?"

"A ghost? Really Molly, you're a scientist." Sherlock commented.

"Actually, I meant something else." but before she managed to say what she meant a child's voice yelled, "An evil wizard did it!"

Molly looked at the young curly haired boy and he smiled in her direction which caused her to smile back at him. At least someone understood what she meant. Sherlock blinked a few times, like he was considering that answer, before frowning and continuing his speech. But Greg wouldn't let him get away from it so fast.

"So who was it and how was it done?"

After few seconds of silence Sherlock answered, "I don't know, it was a case I didn't managed to solve. Doesn't happen often. Anyway…"

* * *

Hours later Greg Lestrade got the answer to that question when Sherlock handcuffed the photographer and revealed how and why the guardsman was stabbed. And as it turned out John's former commanding officer who was the true target and the guardsman was just a test subject. The major would have bled to death and no one would have been any wiser.

But he made a mistake of trying to kill a man in the presence of Sherlock Holmes. And now he would go to jail.

It all happened just before the main event. The first dance of the bride and the groom.

Those closest to the couple weren't surprised at all when the best man, who was also the best friend, went on the small stage and picked a violin. Molly knew she supposed to watch the happy couple dance but all she could focus on was Sherlock Holmes.

A three piece suit looked amazing on him and he even wore a tie, something Molly never seen on him before. But John was his best friend and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for the retired army doctor. The events from two years ago were proof of that.

The composition only lasted several minutes but Molly could listen to it for hours. It was beautiful, calm and touching. And personal. She wasn't an expert in classical music but she was quite certain the melody wasn't from any of the famous composers. And unless she was proven wrong she was willing to believe Sherlock himself has written it specifically for John and Mary.

Everyone clasped when John dipped Mary at the very end and kissed her tenderly. It was a perfect ending of a perfect dance and another proof of the love and devotion of the newly wedded couple.

Molly glanced at Sherlock and saw him looking at her direction and smiling before he picked the boutonniere from the notes stand and threw it towards her. But it didn't land in her hands. Molly's eyes widened as the lovely maid of honor in purple smiled at Sherlock and he nodded at her with a wide smile still on his face.

At this moment Molly Hooper was happy she was fading in the background in her dress that matched the walls. She didn't want anyone to notice the absence of a smile from her face and she really didn't believe she could manage to put one there no matter how hard she may try.

When the DJ started to play the faster music the guests moved from the sidelines to the dance floor where the happy couple was standing with the best man. Jeanine, the maid of honor, started to walk towards them before Molly even managed to consider it and before she was aware of what was happening Sherlock was dancing with the woman in purple dress.

Both Mary and John were laughing, although the look on John's face also showed he was a bit surprised his friend even knew how to dance to music that wasn't considered a waltz. Sherlock merely smiled and winked at the man.

Molly moved close to the wall towards the entrance. Her cardigan was at the back of the chair and her purse on the table. She didn't believe she would need those items so early but it was obvious to the young woman she really didn't have any reasons staying at the reception any longer.

She was there for the most important part. She witnessed the two people that loved each other get married. Everything else wasn't all that important.

* * *

The air outside was chilly and Molly crossed her hands in front of herself. She briefly wondered if the coldness she felt was real or merely a reflection of how she felt inside but decided it didn't really matter.

The music was still rather loud so she turned towards the reception hall and saw the guests dancing through the tall windows. She couldn't see Sherlock, not that it mattered. Not that she mattered.

She shook her head and turned away, leaving into the night.

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**Let me know what you think while I'm working on the 2nd chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2: Not a home

**Standard disclaimer stands, I don't own anything.**

**If you find grammar mistakes or wrong spelled words please let me know. There is no beta proofreading this story, only a spell checker.**

**Huge thanks to all those who read and reviewed the first chapter. The positive response was a great motivator to get this chapter out as soon as possible. You are awesome!**

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Molly sighed and looked back. She was almost at the end of the street, almost out of sight of the reception hall, and she hoped she would see someone following her. Someone asking her why she left early. Someone telling her to come back. Someone requesting a dance.

There was no one.

Just as she predicted.

It was a very stupid thing of her to decide but Molly watched as a cab passed her and didn't even bothered to try to stop it, to get a ride to the train station, so she can return to London and the flat she shared with Tom. Not yet anyway, she needed to spend some more time at the fresh air before she found herself surrounded by cold white walls and greeted by silence. Not even the dog would be there to welcome her since he was currently staying at Tom's parents. Tom didn't want the dog to stay alone at home.

Home.

The word is supposed to have only one meaning but to Molly it had dozen. It wasn't just the housing where someone lived. Not everything with four walls and a roof could be considered a home. And Tom's flat certainly didn't count in that category.

He would always say it's their flat, their home, but even after living there for almost eight months Molly still hasn't started to make herself comfortable there. It was hard to do so.

When she first moved in the walls were white and the floors all covered with dark wood, the spacious sitting room decorated in a modern but somewhat detached style and that was exactly how the rest of the flat looked like too. And now, eight months later it still looked the same.

But she tried to change things; no one can say she didn't. The medical books she placed on the shelves would be packed back in boxes in less then a day and stored in a spare room because those just weren't kind of books one should display. No one wants to see 'death' mentioned on the spine. The colorful quilt she made herself as a teenager, something she was extremely proud of, didn't look nice at the back of the leather sofa. The photo of Toby was also removed with an explanation no adult should have a framed photograph of their dead cat on a mantle.

Tom treated his flat as he treated the gallery where he worked at. Everything had to be on its place. Molly's things were in storage.

It wasn't like the controlled chaos that ruled over her old flat. Although it went a bit out of control for those two weeks after the fall when Sherlock stayed with her. John truly deserved sainthood for putting up with the consulting detective for as long as he did without smothering him with a pillow on one of those rare occasions Sherlock did fell asleep.

She couldn't help but remember that one time…

Molly stopped in her track and yelled, "Stop it!" to the dark night. Why was it impossible for her to just stop thinking about him? No matter what kind of thoughts were running around her mind, sooner or later, _he_ would invade.

She looked around to see if someone heard her outburst before continuing her walk in the direction of the station. It was a really stupid idea, not to mention a potentially dangerous one, to walk alone at this time of the evening but at this point she was beyond caring.

A sudden gush of wind made Molly gasp; for a moment it was almost like it chilled her right to her bones. A flower fell out of the large yellow bow at the side of her head and landed at the pavement. And soon the rest of the bow followed as she took it out of her hair and let it slip out of her finger on the cold ground.

Her long hair spread across her back, now free for the wind to play with it.

She sighed and looked down at the cheerful yellow material. A giggle escaped her lips as she mentally scowled herself for littering. She was a good girl; she shouldn't do things like that. She also shouldn't have agreed to marry a man she didn't love like she supposed to, because she still loved a man she shouldn't have helped to fake his death and hurt his friends in the process. But Molly did all that.

Bending down, she picked the bow and crumpled it in her hand. And as she did the lovely stones on her ring caught light from the street lamp and reflected. When she first accepted the proposal she did that often, played with the only piece of jewelry she wore since she started to work at Barts. It was that girly part of her that loved to watch the reflection of the diamonds on the walls and ceiling. Now it seemed like it weighed a ton.

By now she was several blocks away from Goldney Hall and her feet started to hurt. Looking back towards the direction from which she came she didn't saw any cabs coming so Molly took out her phone from her handbag and tested the application she installed recently but never used before. It took only fifteen minutes of walk from the flat to work so it made it unnecessary to spend money on a cab. But now it was necessary since the nearest train station was Bristol Parkway and it would take over two hours to reach it by foot.

It seemed strange at first, when she read the reception would be held all the way in Bristol, when neither the bride nor the groom ever lived there. But eventually it made sense since it was probably cheaper then renting a reception hall somewhere in London.

* * *

Half an hour later Molly Hooper purchased the train ticket back to London and exited out on the platform. For what seemed the first time today she was fortunate. The train was leaving soon and she managed to find an empty compartment. No odd looks for the woman in a summer dress from other passengers tonight.

Once in Paddington Station she once more caught a cab and gave the driver the address in the Old Street. Leaning back in the seat Molly sighed. She was now miles away from the reception and from the man she desperately tried not to think about. Out of sight, out of mind was such a lovely saying. It was a complete lie but right now she was willing to deceive herself. Better then imagining him dancing with the maid of honor in purple.

"You alright there, miss?" the cabbie asked.

"I'm fine, thank you. Tired a bit."

"Look fancy there, important night?"

Molly didn't had the habit of talking to taxi drivers but right now talking to someone, even a complete stranger, felt really good, "I was at a wedding. It was lovely."

"And you're going home already? It's just after ten-o-clock. Doesn't seem so lovely if you left already. Don't you young folks stay at the party till early hours of the morning? I remember my daughters didn't come home till the next day."

"I'm not much of a party girl." Molly mumbled, just barely loud enough for the cabbie to hear her, "It seemed pointless to stay if all I'll be doing is sit at the table and drink."

"Not dancing?"

"Not dancing. Didn't have a partner."

He actually snorted, "That's what the weddings are for. To catch an eligible guy."

"Oh, I have one. But he wasn't available to come with me today." Molly mentioned sadly, it would have been so different if Tom was with her at the reception. She wouldn't have left early; she wouldn't have cared that Sherlock danced with the maid of honor. Maybe if Tom was there the roles would have been reversed. Maybe Sherlock would have left the reception early.

But if he did she would have noticed. That is the biggest difference between the two of them.

"Well, he missed a perfect opportunity to dance with his lovely girlfriend. So it's his loss in the end." The driver concluded and Molly caught his eye in the rear-view mirror and smiled.

"Thank you."

The car stopped few minutes later, "Here we are, dear. I hope the rest of your evening goes better."

Molly looked out the window and saw the lights at the flat were on; Tom was already back from work, "I'm certain it will."

She paid the driver and exited the cab. The air was even colder now so she rushed to the front door of the building and fumbled with her purse to get the keys out. She rolled her eyes and sighed after pulling the wrinkled yellow bow out first, she should have thrown that thing away in the first bin she came across instead of stuffing it in her already full purse.

After finally getting the keys out Molly entered the foyer and let the doors close behind her and automatically lock. It was one of the few modern modifications on the older building. She walked to the staircase at the right and went to the second floor. By now her feet really hurt and she was ready to throw the shoes she purchased specifically for the wedding straight to the back of the wardrobe and never take them out again.

The wall mounted lights on either side of the door were on and it was a blessing since she had far too many keys on a single keychain and none of them was marked. So finding the right one was always a bother.

But before Molly managed to put the key in the lock the door in front of her opened and Tom stood in front of her with a grinning ginger next to him. He instantly straightened at the sight of his fiancé and the girl cleared her thought.

"Back already Molly? I haven't expected you to be home for at least five more hours." Was the first thing that came out of Tom's mouth and the girl next to him blushed.

"I decided to leave early." She answered and turned her attention to the unknown woman standing next to the man she was engaged to, "Hello, I don't think we met before. I'm Molly Hooper."

"Oh, how rude of me. Violet Smith." The woman said offering her hand for Molly to shake.

Seeing her father raised her properly Molly accepted the handshake before focusing back to Tom, ignoring the fact she was still standing in the hallway and the two of them in the flat "Everything settled at the gallery?"

"Yes, we even unexpectedly finished early today. Mostly thanks to Violet who made plans beforehand with the gallery manager, she's an agent for some of the artists whose arts we'll be displaying. And since she made all those plans I didn't had to, so at least I could do is cook her dinner." Tom explained the presence of the woman in the flat in a calm voice, like he practiced the speech just in case.

"And now I better go. It was nice meeting you Molly." Violet said, smiling sweetly at the pathologist in front of her, not realizing she was being deduced from the moment Molly saw her.

She may not be good at it like Sherlock is but Molly Hooper learned how to notice certain details, it was a side effect of helping the consulting detective for years now. So she noticed the dilated pupils when the ginger woman glanced at Tom, and she sensed her pulse during the handshake and noticed it was elevated. And if that wasn't enough then the telltale sign was the woman's blouse.

As Violet Smith was walking past Molly the young pathologist decided to, seemingly, do a good deed, "Perhaps you should rebutton your blouse before going out on the street. You don't want to give anyone a wrong impression."

Both Violet and Tom focused on the pale green blouse and noticed several buttons were buttoned wrongly. Violet looked back up at Molly but she already turned her back on the shocked woman and entered the flat.

She didn't stay to hear what Tom would say to Violet or vice versa, she didn't care. All Molly Hooper wanted right now is to pack her essentials in an overnight bag and leave.

The kitchen was spotless, she noticed as she passed by it. Tom didn't cooked dinner tonight. If he did and then washed the dishes afterwards he would have moved a coffee cup from the drying rack by the sink.

Upon walking in the bedroom the first thing she noticed was the unmade bed. Since she left the flat several hours after Tom today, and knew for a fact that was not how she left it, Molly didn't require any further evidence to prove what those two were really doing before she arrived.

"Molls, I can explain." She rolled her eyes hearing the expected words. It was so predictable.

"No need really." She said turning to look at Tom while she took her pajamas out of the chest of drawers.

"Oh." He smiled as his mind went in a completely different direction then his fiancé's, "Going to take a shower. I bet you're tired."

"No, I'll take a shower in the hotel." Molly corrected him.

A frown appeared on Tom's face, "What hotel?"

"The one I'll be staying in until I find a new flat."

Getting down on her knees Molly took out her small overnight bag from under the bed and placed it on the chest before proceeding to fill it with things she'll need for tonight. It was a tight fit but she eventually managed to fir her pajamas, underwear, toiletries bag with the most essential items and some basic clothes for tomorrow inside. Her wallet was still in the purse she had with her at the wedding.

"Molly-"

"I have a day off tomorrow; I took it so I can recover from the wedding. You see, I expected to dance the whole night long. But it seems I'll be spending it in a whole different way. I would appreciate it if you aren't here tomorrow so I can pack the rest of my clothes and grab the few boxes I have in the spare bedroom with all those inappropriate books. I'll leave my keys in the mail box once I'm done."

And with that said there was only one thing left to do. Molly calmly took off the engagement ring off her finger and placed it on the dark wood chest where her bag stood just seconds ago. She didn't even bother handing it back to Tom.

"You were having second thoughts." He called after her causing her to pause, "I've seen it when we went to Baker Street, I've been seeing it since then."

"Having 'what if' thoughts and actually cheating are two different things Tom. Two completely different things. I was picturing a life I knew I would never have, you… you destroyed any chance of a life I believed I could have. And yes, I sometimes doubted my decision but because I believed it wouldn't be fair to you if we got married and I didn't love you like I should, now I see it wouldn't be fair to me either. Goodbye Tom."

* * *

One positive thing of living with Tom was that he owned the flat they shared so she saved up a nice sum of money that would have gone to paying rent. Some of it was spent on several new clothing items she purchased in the eight months of living together but most of it was still on her bank account.

Molly took out her phone out of the purse that was still in her hand and did a search for hotels close to Barts. Most of them were far too fancy and required reservations weeks in advance but there were few that pooped out as potential residence for the time being. She just hoped at least one had a free room.

It was far too late to look for a flat but she would start tomorrow right after getting her things out of Tom's place.

She was fortunate right in the first try and made a last minute reservation in one of the budget chain hotels closest to the hospital. Next goal was getting a cab.

Molly just lifted her hand to stop the one that was driving towards the place she was standing on the sidewalk when the door behind her opened and Tom walked out "Molly, you don't have to do this. I've been thinking-"

"Don't strain yourself." She muttered and opened the back door of the black vehicle that stopped in front of her. She closed the door and told the driver the address, completely ignoring the man she truly believed, up to ten minutes ago, that she would end up married to for the rest of her life.

Was it truly been only ten minutes?

"Not expected seeing you again, miss." The cabbie said and Molly caught his eyes in the side-view mirror and smiled.

"Things don't always end up as expected." She pointed out sadly, "And sometimes I feel like no one knows that better then me."

* * *

**I did a search for the location of the reception from 'The Sigh of Three' and found out it was filmed in Goldney Hall of Residence in Bristol so I used that location too. **


	3. Chapter 3: A still heart

**If you find any spelling or grammar mistakes please inform me so I can fix them. Thank you.**

**In other news: I still don't own anything. In case you were wondering.**

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One phone call. That's all it took for Molly Hooper's easygoing days to end.

One phone call from John Watson and she found herself putting on clothes in a rush and running out the door, almost tripping over her own feet as she rushed down from the forth floor. She wasn't even sure if she locked her flat doors behind herself but at the moment that wasn't important.

She needed to get to the hospital and she needed to get there now.

The night air was biting at her face as she ran down the street towards Barts. It was a blessing that she managed to find a new flat so close to her work place because she wasn't sure she could handle a longer trip, not after the news she just received.

John was very vague and she didn't understand half of the things he said but what she did understand unnerved her. She couldn't help but think about the three postmortems she did in the last two days with the same cause of death and the thought of doing another one terrified her. Especially since it wouldn't be a stranger.

She saw John first, sitting on a plastic chair in the wide hallway. He was turned away from her, his right hand firmly holding Mary's left. The blonde woman said something too quiet for Molly to hear and John nodded silently causing his wife to lean towards him and place her head on his shoulder.

She sniffed and stepped forward, catching the retired army doctor's attention. He leaned towards Mary and whispered, "Molly's here."

His wife instantly stood up and the two women hugged tightly. Molly could feel Mary shaking slightly and tried her best to calm her down but it was no use. Instead she sat on next free plastic chair and waited for the doctor to come out and tell them the news.

Ten minutes later the doors of the ward opened and a disheveled Sherlock Holmes all but ran inside. The moment he noticed the three of them sitting he took a deep breath and approached.

"John?" was all he managed to say before Mary started to sob.

"Mary, you need to calm down and take deep breaths." Molly hugged the woman as best as she could with one hand and pulled her closer, their heads close, "For the baby."

"You know?" Mary sniffed and took a napkin out of the pocket of her thick orange coat, "Since when?"

"I'm a doctor, I notice things." Molly said, focusing on the crying woman so she missed the look Sherlock sent in her direction, "Your gait changed. It's caused by the loosening and widening of joints in your pelvis. I noticed it… I noticed it while you were walking towards the altar."

"And you haven't said anything? Why?" Mary wiped her eyes and smiled slightly at the young pathologist.

"Cause it would be impolite to point it out at the wedding." Molly answered and watched as Mary turned towards Sherlock who was observing their exchange with interest.

"It slipped." He deadpanned before focusing on John again, "Now, tell me from start to the beginning what happened when you got to Baker Street."

"Mrs. Hudson was her usual cheerful self when we arrived. She sent us to the sitting room, after refusing an offer to help, and was preparing tea for us when we heard the crash. She just collapsed. I checked her pulse right away, it was alarmingly slow, I barely felt it. During that time Mary was calling for an ambulance."

"That's it? Nothing else?" Sherlock asked, "Thank John! Did anything else happened? Anything unusual?"

"No. That's it Sherlock." John answered, "The ambulance arrived within minutes. They checked her vitals, hooked her to a portable EKG and came to a conclusion she had a heart attack. She is going to be alright. They'll keep her at Coronary Care Unit for a week or so and then discharge her."

"But what if it wasn't a simple heart attack? What if it's something serious?" Sherlock was unwilling to listen to his friend's explanation. Martha Hudson was very important to him and he wanted her to be alright and back at Baker Street.

"I'm sure it's not. So calm down before you get one too." John said and forced the consulting detective to sit down. They were already attracting too much attention from the nurses. One of them actually smiled and winked at them as she passed by, something that would have caused Sherlock to deduce her, rather loudly too, if he wasn't so distracted.

Sherlock took a seat on John's left and leaned his head back before closing his eyes. He felt guilty now for taking that stupid case, it was barely a four. A complete waste of his time. But he was bored and accepted. A mistake he won't be repeating.

"Lets all think positively." Mary said after finally managing to compose herself, "It's just a heart attack. Yes, it can be deadly but Mrs. Hudson is a healthy and active woman. She'll recover from it and be back at Baker Street in no time. And Sherlock-" she looked directly at the consulting detective and said as seriously as possible, "Do try and behave from now on. Mrs. Hudson doesn't need to worry so much about a grown man; you can do things on your own."

"Mary is right." John agreed with his wife and Sherlock frowned, "No, Sherlock… she's right. You shoot the wall because you were bored. Please, for Mrs. Hudson's sake, refrain yourself from doing that again."

"You make it sound like this is my fault." Sherlock actually sounded hurt and Molly instantly focused on him. John and Mary maybe missed the look he had on his face earlier but she hasn't. He did feel guilty.

"It's not." She said to calm him down, "I know it's not the right thing to say at the moment but I need to say it to make a point. In the past two days I did three postmortems on people who died from a heart attack. They were healthy and had no sign of developing a heart condition. It happens and it's no one's fault."

"Three?" Sherlock instantly perked, "How old were they, we there any similarities? Anything suspicious about the deaths?"

"No, Sherlock." Molly rolled her eyes, "They were older people, all in their sixties and seventies. There was nothing suspicious."

The silence surrounded them for several minutes as they all pulled back inside their own minds. It's been over half an hour now since Mrs. Hudson was delivered in the hospital and they still haven't got any news.

Molly took a deep breath and closed her eyes to stop herself from counting the tiles. Nine days. That's how long it's been since the wedding, since she saw Sherlock dancing with Jeanine, since she slipped out early. So many things changed since then and yet so many things remained the same.

She still pinned after him and she probably always will but she can't let it define her anymore. She had a new flat, a new beginning in her personal life now that she and Tom were no longer together. Maybe she could start anew with other things too.

The doors to her right opened and Molly opened her eyes. The doctor was coming their way. And he looked happy. Mrs. Hudson was alright.

* * *

The woman was in her early thirties, something that alarmed Molly Hooper. And she was a vegan yoga instructor so she lived as healthy as it gets. And yet, she died from a heart attack. It didn't take much more then that for the alarms in pathologist's mind to go off.

She took off her gloves and reached in the lab coat's pocket for the cell phone. Quickly scrolling down the contact list she picked the correct name and dialed. After few seconds a man answered.

"Greg, I need you to get to Bart's morgue. There is something going on. I have a perfectly healthy thirty two year old on my slab. I can't believe she simply died of a heart attack. Something is amiss."

"_Alright. I'll be there as fast as I can. Do you think we'll need extra help?"_

Molly knew exactly what the detective inspector meant by that and, although she would gladly keep her distance from Sherlock Holmes, if peoples lives depended on it she would get over her discomfort. After all, as she kept repeating to herself, it wasn't Sherlock's fault the engagement was broken off. And she shouldn't act like it was. All he did was dance with a maid of honor. So what if it's the same woman that mentioned sex to him, that didn't have to mean anything.

Molly shook her head to stop that train of thoughts and answered, "Not sure. I'll take a blood sample and do a tox screen. See what that will show me."

"_I'll call him just in case. Or text." _Greg answered was about to hang up when Molly suggested he tells Sherlock the cause of death is a heart attack, _"Why?"_

"Because it will make him interested in a case. You'll see."

Half an hour later three men walked in the morgue, just as Molly was finishing the postmortem that caused her to call Greg in the first place. Sherlock right away walked to the other side of the slab, opposite of her, and started to deduce the deceased woman.

Molly turned towards Greg, "Thank you for coming here so fast. And only because of my hunch."

"That's okay Molly." He said before glancing at the consulting detective, "Got anything yet?"

"Just general info, nothing suspicious. What did the toxicology report say?"

Molly sighed, "Those take several weeks. Over ten weeks even since I have no idea what to look for. And even then it may be noting but my paranoia."

"It's most likely a poison. There are no needle marks on the skin so it wasn't injected with a syringe; no strange discoloration on the skin so she didn't came in contact with any dangerous chemical. So it must be ingested orally. What's her stomach content?" Sherlock asked without even looking at Molly's direction. Instead he was typing something on his phone.

"It hasn't been digested yet so she just finished her meal. It was breakfast made out of oatmeal, raisins and what appears to be apple. She also had tea." She answered before turning towards the inspector, "I'll see what I can do to speed up the toxicology report. Do some research on potential poisons to narrow down the search maybe. I even took samples from three other deceased that died from a heart attack in the last few days. I feel so guilty, what if I missed something during their postmortems?"

"I'm sure you did everything by the book." The detective inspector said just as a text message alert startled everyone.

All eyes turned towards John Watson who took the cell phone out of his jacket pocket and checked out the message. He smiled briefly before looking towards Greg and Molly, "Are we done here cause…?"

"Yeah, we are." Greg answered for the both of them and John nodded.

"Come on Sherlock." He said to his friend, "They are waiting for us at the restaurant. We should go before the two of them order something gross for us as a punishment for being late."

The consulting detective nodded and the two men left the morgue without another word. Not even a goodbye. Molly stood for several seconds observing the closed door silently before she focused at the older man next to her.

"I'll go do that research now. See you later Greg."

"Yeah. See you Molly."

She watched him exit the morgue before she looked at the body on the slab and sighed. The woman was younger then she is and was lying dead on a cold steel table. It was such a waste of a precious life.

As she covered the body with a sheet and exited the morgue to go to her office and do a search on possible poisons Molly couldn't help but think about what John said just minutes ago. _They_ are waiting at the restaurant. It's obvious one person is Mary. There were several possibilities who the other person could be but Molly Hooper could only think of one. Jeanine.

* * *

It was two days later that it happened. Molly was just leaving the hospital as a voice from the darkness startled her.

"You looked sad."

She stopped in her track and turned towards Sherlock. He approached her slowly and she wondered again if he was once more standing at the sidewalk where he landed at the giant inflatable landing pad like he sometimes did. He probably didn't even know she was aware of that strange habit of his.

"What?"

"The other day, in the morgue. You looked sad." He clarified.

"So?" she asked and he looked at her surprised by the question. He obviously expected an answer and didn't know what to say, "I looked sad before Sherlock. In fact I looked sad quite recently and you haven't noticed. No one noticed."

"Molly-"

"Good night Sherlock." She turned away from him and started to walk away, not giving him a chance to say anything else. So he just stood there and watched her go.

* * *

**Sorry if I scared anyone by making you think something happened to Sherlock. That was exactly my intention.**


	4. Chapter 4: Cup of tea

**The plot of this story is mine, the characters are borrowed. **

**If grammar mistakes or misspelled words managed to escape my sharp eye please let me know and I'll correct them.**

* * *

The doors closed with a barely heard click and Molly Hooper leaned on the hard wood. Her heart was beating fast and she had to take deep breaths to stop the dizziness. And then she smiled.

It was such an exhilarating feeling to know she managed to accomplish something she never believed she could. And no, it wasn't climbing to the forth floor without taking a break. It was turning her back on Sherlock Holmes and leaving him behind.

She never felt so empowered in her life.

Molly opened her eyes and reached for the light switch somewhere on her left. She fumbled a bit before she found it, its exact location a bit higher then she expected. It would take a while till she got used to the new flat.

Moments later the three small ceiling lights in the sitting room came on and illuminated the room in the soft glow. Moving away from the door Molly placed her bag on the sofa in front of her before she changed directions and walked to the small kitchen on the right. The light wood cabinets with a dark surface that looked like marble, but was actually out of wood, was so much smaller then the modern looking one at Tom's flat but she didn't cook much so the size didn't matter all that much.

And she had no intention to cook now either. Instead she filled the tea kettle with water and placed in on the stove. It was only then that she bothered to take of her jacket off and hang it on the coat rack by the front door.

She just turned her back to it when a chime sounded from the pocket. Molly sighed and took out her cell phone expecting a message from Sherlock telling her she needs to return to Barts because he needs something and no one else is willing to help him.

It wasn't. Brown eyes widened slightly at the sight of Tom's name on the screen. She knew for a fact there wasn't anything she left behind in his flat, nothing of hers that may have been mixed with his in the laundry. She checked. So there was only one reason why he would be texting her.

Molly closed her eyes, took a deep breath and promptly deleted the message.

The kettle whistled just few seconds later so she dropped the phone on the end table by the sofa and went to make a nice cup of tea for herself. She picked a large cup from the tall cabinet and placed it next to a tea pot. Usually Molly wouldn't bother with the entire process and would just pour the boiling water directly in the cup but tonight she wanted to enjoy herself, at least for a bit. So she warmed the tea pot before adding a spoonful of loose tea inside and adding the rest of boiling water from the kettle. She even covered the pot with the lovely tea cosy she bought years ago when she first started to live alone. Perhaps a bit overboard considering she's only making tea for herself but at the moment Molly didn't care.

The sofa was cozy and the young pathologist almost dozed off after finishing her cup of tea but then she remembered the day was not over yet. Her research into poisons that could cause a heart attack was far from finished. So instead of going to bed she took her laptop and went to work.

The toxicology report could take up to six weeks till every possibility is checked but if she could narrow it down it could speed up the process quite drastically. And considering people's lives are at stake she was more then willing to lose a bit of sleep to help out with stopping whom ever is harming random individuals.

That's what worried her the most. There was no pattern, no similarities between the victims. They were all different age, gender, lived in different parts of the city, and had different jobs. It was scary to think at any moment someone she knows could just die and they still didn't know how or who would do such a thing.

The research, like any other, was progressing slowly. There were countless of substances that appeared harmless but could easily kill a person. Potassium for instance can be found in potatoes, parsley, chocolate, bananas but also in meat and fish. But the first sign of potassium poisoning would be seen in the kidneys and they were in perfect health in all patients.

Other heavy metals were also out of the question because other organs would show signs of poisoning. Molly sighed and closed her eyes before leaning her head at the back of the sofa. She was left to research plants. And there were so many of them that could come in question.

* * *

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled as he slammed the front door of Baker Street house closed, "Mrs. Hudson!"

He took a step towards the stairs before stopping in his track and expelling the air from his lungs. He stood for a good minute at the bottom of the staircase trying to understand how he possibly managed to forget his landlady was in the hospital. He visited her just that morning.

"It's because of Molly." He finally muttered and stomped upstairs to his flat, only his flat, "Molly and her… her… I tried to talk to her!"

He placed his coat over John's armchair, only it was no longer John's, it wasn't anyone's armchair, and grabbed the skull from the mantle. If someone saw Sherlock Holmes walking from one side of the sitting room to the other while holding a skull and talking to it that person would more then likely question the consulting detective's sanity. His movements were frantic while he tried to explain to his bony friend how Molly Hooper confuses him.

"She walks away, she just walks away! And what does "I looked sad before" even means? And "No one noticed"? That's nonsense! I notice, I always notice! Others don't notice. They see but they don't observe. But I do!" he looked at the skull in his hand, "Well, what should I do?"

After several seconds of silence in which Sherlock observed the skull he nodded and muttered, "Right, make tea. And tomorrow I'll go to a visit Mrs. Hudson. Wonder if I should take her something."

He placed the skull back on the mantle, muttered, "Thank you, Billy." and proceed to the kitchen to make himself a cuppa. Possibly one without an eyeball in the cup. But to be honest it didn't taste as horrible as expected. Maybe because he burned it before it slipped in.

"It would be worth testing that theory but I doubt Molly would allow me to have eyeballs so I can put them in my tea. And charming her obviously doesn't work anymore."

He made a cup, but left it on the kitchen table next to the microscope and went in his bathroom to take a shower. By the time he came out the tea was tepid so he frowned and placed the ceramic cup in the sink to be washed later.

With his favorite silky blue dressing gown billowing behind him Sherlock marched to the sofa and unceremoniously threw himself on in like he did sometimes when he was agitated because of something.

And right now it was the only competent Barts pathologist. It was a mystery right now, why she reacted to him tonight the way she did, but like all other mysteries it was only a matter of time before he solved it. He was Sherlock Holmes after all, the world's only consulting detective. And like John once said, the police don't consult idiots.

But before he managed to ponder on the enigma that was Molly Hooper and her current behavior he fell asleep. Staying awake for several days finally caught up with him.

* * *

Morning came soon, too soon for Sherlock Holmes. He was still tired but he was on a case. He couldn't waste time on sleeping now, or eating for that matter. But the sounds his stomach was making showed it didn't care that he believed digesting slowed him down. He required food and he required it now.

The first thing that crossed his mind as he walked in the kitchen and opened the fridge to find something edible was 'Mrs. Hudson would approve'. He smirked and grabbed the butter.

First breakfast, then a shower and then he'll go to the hospital and visit his landlady, but not house keeper.

Half an hour later Sherlock was dressed and ready to go. After grabbing his coat, a coat he missed while he was away for those two years while destroying Moriarty's network although he would never admit that to anyone for as long as he breaths, from the armchair where he deposited it last night and putting it on he tied the soft blue scarf around his neck and left the flat.

Getting a cab was no problem for him. Unlike John he only needed to raise his hand and a black car would stop in front of him.

After telling the cabbie the destination Sherlock leaned back in the seat. He was completely unaware that little over a week ago Molly Hooper sat in that exact spot, first on the way to the flat and then while the cabbie drove her to the hotel.

The Coronary Care Unit accepted visitors from 10 am till noon and after a quick glance on his watch Sherlock smiled, he was right on time. And he was also empty handed.

"I'll bring something tomorrow." He muttered and walked in the ward.

Mrs. Hudson was in a room at the very end of the hallway and he could see inside through the large window and sliding glass door. There was a sideboard under the window with several vases filled with colorful flowers decorating the small room and giving it some much needed color. The white walls were so boring.

And because the flowers obscured his view he wasn't aware Mrs. Hudson already had a visitor until he was right at the other side of the door. Just then did he notice the brunette sitting next to the bed and talking to his landlady.

She was facing away from him and wasn't aware of him standing there, quietly observing the two of them. But Mrs. Hudson did. She smiled at her tenant and waived at him to come inside.

If he was anyone else Sherlock would have missed the small change in Molly Hooper, but unfortunately for her, after the way she reacted last night he became hyper aware of her every movement, he noticed her suddenly freezing in the middle of a sentence before she continued to talk to Mrs. Hudson like nothing happened. It lasted only few seconds but it was more then enough for him.

Something happened, and he didn't know what. And it bothered him.

"Oh, Sherlock. I didn't expect you to come today as well." Mrs. Hudson said smiling at him and holding out her left hand for him to take. Sherlock walked to the other side of the bed, opposite of the pathologist that obviously had an issue that involved him, and took his landlady's hand.

"I came to see how you were doing." He explained shortly.

"And to find out when I'll be released?" she asked before scowling him, "Young man, if you think I'll continue to-"

"You won't have to. I promise to be more considered and actually do things myself so you don't have to."

"Well now…" she muttered before turning towards Molly and smiling, "If I knew I'd get a reaction like that I would have had that heart attack years ago."

"Don't make jokes, Mol… Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock cleared his throat after the small slip.

"I'll better be going now." Molly said after a short silence. She stood up from the chair and took her lab coat that was placed on the bottom of the bed. She didn't even bother to put it on when she arrived at the hospital, just took it with her from the locker and came straight up to visit the older woman.

"Already? You've been here less then ten minutes dear."

"I know, but I got a lot to do down in the morgue."

"Yes, you do. Did you already started to test the blood samples or are you waiting for more people to die? Whoever killed those people won't stop on his own." Sherlock spoke before he managed to stop himself and the look on Molly's face clearly showed that was a bit 'not good'.

She didn't say a word to him, instead she focused on the older woman who got a bright smile and promise that she'll visit again soon, before leaving the room and walking away towards the main doors of the ward.

Sherlock watched her walk away before looking down on his landlady that was shaking her head at him, "That girl is wonderful. You know how fortunate you are to be able to call her your friend."

"Yes, I know. I owe her a lot."

"Good, I'm glad you are aware of that. John told me, you know. That it was young Molly who helped you with the fall. That must have been so hard for her."

"Why would it be hard for her? I was the one who jumped." Sherlock frowned.

"Because you went away to do what ever it was that you did, and she stayed here to lie to people. I do not believe lying comes easy to her." Mrs. Hudson said looking out the room window towards the other side of the hallway. There was no sign of Molly there, she was most likely already halfway down to the basement where the morgue was.

"No." Sherlock agreed with her, "I don't believe that either."

* * *

Molly Hooper just entered the morgue and turned on her phone when it ringed in her hand startling her. After composing herself she looked at the screen. The caller was Greg. She wondered for a moment if he was calling about the tox reports that Sherlock has so rudely mentioned not ten minutes ago but quickly rejected that possibility. The detective inspector knew how long it would take to get the results. And unlike Sherlock he didn't expect her to magically make it go faster.

"Hello, Greg. What can I do for you?"

"_Hey Molly, thought you should hear the news. We found four other cases in different hospitals all across London. All four were in late thirties, living healthy lives. No connections whatsoever between them."_

"I was afraid of that." She sighed.

"_The bosses are not pleased. There's a press conference in 30 minutes and I have to say we have a serial killer in London and no clues who he is or how he kills. I literally have nothing to say to them except 'we are working on it'."_

"We _are_ working on it, Greg. All of us." Molly reminded him, "We'll catch who ever is doing this. There has to be something in common to all the victims. Has the police been to their flats?"

"_Yes, but we didn't find anything suspicious."_ Greg was clearly agitated, _"I'll have Donovan go through the lists again, see if we missed anything the first time. Maybe there is something small they all have in common." _

"Okay, let me know if you find anything. I'll continue testing the blood samples for poisons." Molly took one of the files and opened it only to frown, "And I'll have to talk to the lab technician that did the preliminary drug test. He skipped testing the blood for several different medications."

"_I wasn't aware any of them took medicine. There is nothing mentioned in their files." _

"The first one I did the postmortem on was taking medicine for low blood pressure. But…" she opened the file of the older man that was the first one who died suspiciously, "…but his blood wasn't tested for any heart medication. I will also have to talk to head of the department. Mistakes like this can't happen again."

"_If you find anything suspicious-"_

"You'll be the first one to know. Good luck on the press conference."

"_Thanks, I'll need it. Talk to you later."_

Molly checks that the call is really finished and then drops the cell phone in the deep pocket of the lab coat. She has work to do.

* * *

It was little after twelve when Sherlock Holmes returned to Baker Street, hung his coat on the rack and went upstairs to his flat. He needed to go to his mind palace; there were so many things about this case that didn't make sense.

There was no obvious motive, he briefly considered that maybe there was one victim was a target and the others were killed to distract the police. But the background checks of the deceased showed nothing suspicious. It was rather annoying.

He got comfortable on the sofa and placed his hands under his chin when he heard the doors downstairs opening and closing. He would have found that alarming if he wasn't aware that John still had his key.

Sherlock closed his eyes again when he noticed the sound of footsteps was wrong. It wasn't John coming up the stairs. In fact it wasn't just one person, two people were approaching.

"Sherlock? Are you in?" he recognized Mary's voice and decided to ignore her. Hopefully she'll see that he's busy and leave him alone.

The blonde woman walked through the door and looked around before seeing the consulting detective on the sofa. An unknown person walked in after his friend's wife and Sherlock sniffed. He recognized that perfume.

"I'm working on a case. What do you want?" he asked, not bothering to hide he was irritated by their presence. He liked Mary but he didn't have time for her now.

"Hello Sherlock." Jeanine greeted him, a wide smile on her face, "We were in the neighborhood and wanted to know if you would join us for lunch."

"I'm on a case." He repeated, "I don't eat when I'm on a case. The digesting slows me down. Anything else?"

"Come on. You have to eat." The brunette pressed.

"No." he muttered and tried desperately to go to his mind palace but the two women in his realm were thinking too loud. Sherlock sighed and sat up turning towards them.

"Didn't you have fun few days ago when we went out to dinner? Harry was happy to finally meet you." Mary pressed further but the detective wouldn't bulge on his decision.

"I don't have the time or the appetite. Goodbye."

Mary huffed at his rudeness and left the flat. Jeanine on the other hand didn't. She placed a paper on the coffee table in front of him, "Give me a call. We can go out to a new tea shop that opened near Kensington Gardens. It's a lovely, old-fashioned looking, place. They even sell tea that you can make at home. I thought about getting some."

Sherlock completely ignored the woman and lied back down. He needed to think and hoped she would finally get the picture and leave him alone. And eventually, after almost a minute of silence, she left after Mary.

He sighed in relief and smiled slightly at the blissful silence when his eyes snapped open and he sat up fast enough to make himself dizzy. That's it, that's the solution. And it was so simple Sherlock had to scowl himself for not realizing it sooner. The case was maybe a five and not an eight as he first believed. Or maybe it was a seven. He'll know when he finds out the final detail.

He rushed down the stairs and quickly put his coat on before exiting the house and almost colliding with a man that gave him a strange look that the detective ignored and instead walked to the curb to hail a taxi.

The moment one stopped he got in and gave the driver instruction to take him to New Scotland Yard. Lestrade already had a press conference where he stated that the deaths were a work of a serial killer, but the question was were the deaths intentional or accidents.

He leaned in the seat and turned to look out the window. The cab stopped on a red light and Sherlock watched people walk by the black car, quickly deducing them. And behind them he saw a spotless glass display of a jewelry store, countless little stones glittering under the artificial light, attracting the attention of the passerby's.

His pupils widened slightly and his pulse sped up at the sudden realization.

That evening, just like today when he saw her in Mrs. Hudson's room, Molly Hooper didn't wear her engagement ring.

* * *

**I take writing this story so serious I actually Googled the proper way to make tea.**


	5. Chapter 5: Case of emergency

**It's late and I still don't own anything. If you find any spelling or grammar mistakes let me know and I'll fix them.**

**This story wasn't supposed to have a case in it, but I wanted to make it a bit more interesting. Hope you like what I did. **

* * *

Sherlock ignored the looks he was getting as he marched past the curious members of New Scotland Yard. He was a man on a mission and didn't have time for their silly curiosity. One would think that after so many months since his return they would simply accept the fact he faked his death and move along with their lives. The press certainly has.

But not the members of the police he encountered on an almost daily basis. No, they wanted to know in the tiniest detail how he did it. Well, tough luck. Not even John knew and the doctor was actually his friend.

Although, John didn't know 'how' because he didn't care about that part of Sherlock faking his death. What John Watson wanted to know is why.

The consulting detective nodded in greeting as he walked past Sally Donovan who became surprisingly civil towards him when he returned in the world of the living. A quick glimpse across her figure gave him few new details about the sergeant. She was currently seeing someone, the relationship is several months old and that someone owns a dog. Nothing very exciting.

Lestrade's office door was closed so he simply opened them and walked in without knocking. It was a god way to catch the detective inspector unprepared. In this case he was leaning in his chair, with his legs propped on the desk and eating a bagel.

"Some people knock." The DI muttered, lowering his feet on the floor and sitting up straight. But he didn't let go of the pastry.

"Yes, good for them. I don't have time for that, I have cases to solve."

"Well, solve them then." Lestrade muttered after swallowing almost half the bagel he somehow managed to shove in his mouth at once.

"I believe I did." Sherlock said rather smugly.

That got the detective's attention, "The poisoning case? You know who did it?"

"No. But I believe I know how it was done. It was all quite simple; I can not believe it took me so long to connect everything. Probably because I was only considering intentional poisoning, someone killing people on purpose. But I believe it may have been an accident. At least on how the victims were picked."

"What?" Lestrade tried to grasp everything at once and was a bit confused. He wasn't a stupid man; if he was he never would manage to get where he is now, but Sherlock Holmes was a tough man to understand once he gets going.

"Is there a list of items from victim's kitchens? Or did you delegate that assignment to someone completely incompetent and he never compiled that list?"

The older man huffed, "There is a list, you know there is a list. What is the matter with you?"

Not waiting for the answer to that question, fully knowing he wouldn't get one Greg picked up the receiver on his phone and pressed a speed dial button that right away called his right hand in New Scotland Yard. Sherlock couldn't hear what sergeant Donovan was saying but just two minutes after Lestrade hung up she walked in the office with several thin files in her hands.

"Here you go." She gave them to the consulting detective, "Knock yourself out."

"I only need lists of the items found in the kitchens." Sherlock said as he opened the first file on the desk.

"I've been through them all. There is nothing that links all the victims." Donovan said leaning on the sideboard next to the door, "Few used different brands of products but there isn't a single thing they all used."

Sherlock turned and looked at her, "They all used tea."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "There isn't a household in England that doesn't have tea in the kitchen."

"And the brands are different in out victim's kitchens." Donovan walked next to Sherlock and pointed out on the tea shop name listed on the paper.

Opening the next file on top of the current one Sherlock looked for the same thing. He frowned seeing sergeant Donovan was right when another detail caught his eye. And right away a triumphal smile appeared on his face as he looked at the detective inspector before pulling the third file from the bottom and opening it.

It was as he expected. The tea was bought in a different tea shop but so far all three were made out of the same plant. That was the connection he was looking for the entire time.

Once he pointed out the little detail that escaped her, despite she's been over those lists ever since she got them, Sally looked at her boss, "What do you think? Same owner? Maybe same supplier?"

"Maybe both." Lestrade answered and focused on his computer.

It only took several minutes to get the information about each tea shop from the database. And while there were all across of London and had different names and were decorated in different style they did indeed have the same owner.

"Donovan, track down the owner, John Douglas, and bring him in for questioning." he said to the sergeant and she instantly nodded before leaving the two men alone in the office.

Lestrade stood up from his soft leather chair, put on his jacket and turned towards Sherlock who was already impatiently waiting for him at the door. It took all his power not to inform the consulting detective he looked like a dog that couldn't wait to go on a walk. He was more then aware Sherlock wouldn't appreciate the comparison and would most likely insult him in some way as payback.

Only Sherlock wouldn't see that as payback, to him that would simply be stating the fact that do one wants to hear.

"Can you hurry up? This is a case of emergency." Sherlock said coldly when Greg didn't right away rushed out the door and towards the parking lot; instead he first stopped at say something to one of the sergeants they met in the hallway.

"I'm aware of that. But believe it or not I have no intention to drive across of London from one tea shop to the other collecting samples. It's faster if I delegate like I did just now. Once we know what we're dealing with the police teams will go to them all and seize all poisonous stuff that you may find."

"Oh." Sherlock muttered, "Alright then. I suppose that is faster."

* * *

The consulting detective was observing the pedestrians as they drove towards the nearest shop where two victims bought their tea. It was ten minutes away but for him even that seemed too long. All he wanted to do is finish this case that gave him more trouble then it should have, go back to Baker Street and figure out what to do about Molly Hooper.

She thought he didn't notice her, but he did. He noticed every time she changed the way she styled her hair, when she wore a new jumper, when she had a date after work. He also noticed how lovely she looked at John and Mary's wedding. Even with that ridiculous bow in her hair. She would have looked much nicer if she let her hair down. He only saw her like that once before the fall, that Christmas night when he identified Irene Adler's body.

He never admitted to anyone, and he never will, what's the real reason why he made a mistake with that identification. He saw the Woman without clothes so he shouldn't have made a mistake, but she distracted him. Molly Hooper distracted him and she had no idea she could even do that.

He was still feeling bad about the cruel way he deduced her earlier that evening so when he saw her in the morgue later on, without a single trace of makeup on her face and her hair flowing down in waves, he paid more attention to her then to the body on the slab. But of course she didn't notice that. Mycroft on the other hand did.

Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of the hand brake being pulled and he looked at Lestrade. The detective inspector was opening his door so he hurried to do the same before Lestrade noticed he wasn't paying attention. Something that shouldn't be happening while he was on a case. But his pathologist somehow always managed to invade his thoughts.

Lestrade entered the tea shop first, closely followed by Sherlock, and instantly caught the attention of the older lady behind the counter.

"Welcome, how may I help you?" she asked smiling.

Lestrade took the photos of two victims that bought their tea in this particular shop out of his coat pocket and showed them to the older woman, "Have you ever seen this people before?"

"Hm… the man I don't remember but the young woman comes here often. She's working in a yoga studio just down the street. Lovely thing, but I haven't seen her since… last week. Did something happen?"

"I'm afraid both of them died." Lestrade answered honestly, no point lying to the woman since they need her to cooperate in their investigation.

"Oh dear, what happened?" she asked, visible upset.

"They were poisoned." Sherlock answered, "Most likely by tea they bought in this shop."

The woman gasped in shock and Lestrade send a death glare in the consulting detective's direction. Upsetting the woman will not make things go any faster. Seeing the older woman was now clutching the counter and was close to hyperventilating the inspector offered her his hand and led her from behind the counter to the closest table so she can sit down and calm down enough to answer the rest of his questions.

Luckily the shop was currently empty so no one was staring at them wondering what they did to upset the sweet old lady. Or rather, what Sherlock did.

"Poisoned? By my tea? I don't understand." She muttered looking at Lestrade, "Are you certain?"

"I'm afraid so." He confirmed, "We found Comfrey plan tea in their kitchens, the package says it was bought right here."

"Oh, we just got it recently. It's not very popular."

"That is rather fortunate." Sherlock deadpanned, "Do you mind if I take a look at that tea?"

The woman waiver her hand in the direction of the counter, "Please do." Before focusing on Lestrade, "Does the owner know? Mr. Douglas should be informed about this."

"My sergeant is taking care of that."

In the meantime Sherlock picked up the ceramic container that was decorated with poppy flowers and had Comfrey written on it in calligraphy. He carefully lifted the wooden lid and smelled the content. In that instant Lestrade's cell phone ringed startling the consulting detective and causing him to almost drop the container from his hand.

"Molly, you have something for me?" Greg asked and Sherlock looked in his direction. He wished the phone was on loudspeaker so he could hear what Molly was saying but before he managed to comment on it Greg disconnected and looked towards him, "She identified the poison."

"What was it?" he asked impatiently.

"Digitalis."

Sherlock frowned, "Produced by plants from Digitalis genom, often used in production of medicine for different heart conditions. It's no longer used that much now that other therapies have proven to better and safer. Plants from that genom are also known as Foxgloves, and are often grown as ornamental plants despite them are highly poisonous. And not just one part of the plant, no. The entire plant is toxic. The poisoning causes many different symptoms from nausea to delirium to dysrhythmia." The consulting detective took a deep breath and focused at Greg, "Sometimes people confuse Foxglove and Comfrey. That's most likely what happened here. People died because they drank tea made out of the wrong plant."

"The question is now was it a mistake or intentional." Greg mused before turning towards the older woman, "We're going to need the name and the address of your supplier."

"Alright." She said, still in shock by what just happened, and stood up from the chair to go to the back office, "We just got a new one. The old one was awful; you couldn't believe how many times we got tea that wasn't properly dried and started to mold. But Mr. Douglas found a new one; he said the farm where it's all grown is new too. Some kids starting a new business."

Lestrade nodded silently, despite her not being able to see him since her back was turned towards the inspector and she walked to the office only to return minutes later with a paper in her hand.

"Thank you." Greg said as she handed him the paper with the info he needed, "I'm afraid you'll have to close the shop for now. I'll send technicians to check out the tea just to be sure that it's only one kind that's poisonous."

"Do what you need to do, inspector."

After greeting the woman and thanking her for her help the two men left the tea shop. It was afternoon and they didn't have plenty of time to get to the farm today while it was still light outside and the phone call from Donovan came before Sherlock managed to ask if they'll be going right away. She got the shops owned in the Yard and was waiting for Lestrade to come in and talk to the guy. That basically meant the trip will have to wait till tomorrow. And knowing Lestrade he'll be going there with a large group of technicians. In that moment Sherlock decided the case was closed for him and the police should be able to handle everything else without messing up. Hopefully.

Which meant he could now focus completely on the other case that bothered him.

"Come on, I'll give you the ride to Baker Street." Lestrade said as he disconnected.

"No, that's fine." Sherlock said looking at his watch, "I'll catch a cab."

Lestrade just shrugged and drove off, leaving the consulting detective behind. The moment the cat turned behind the corner Sherlock took out his cell phone and dialed a number he rarely used. It took only two rings before a male voice on the other side called him brother dear and asked what he wants.

"Can you get excess to Bart's personnel files? Of course you can, you're the British government. I need an address."

* * *

Picking the lock was surprisingly easy. Sherlock sighed, she really needed to invest in better locks this days. Anyone with the even a bit of skill could easily break in and kill her while she's asleep. He huffed and walked in the dark sitting room. The windows were facing east so there was no light coming in from the sun, and the light of the street lamps didn't help much since the flat was on the second floor.

The clock on the phone said it was 7 pm. She should be getting home soon.

Sherlock looked around the sitting room and frowned. He knew Molly Hooper for years and knew her taste well. And this place didn't reflect her at all. It looked more like a museum them a home.

But before he could inspect some more the front door opened and a person walked in. But what surprised the consulting detective was the sound of the footsteps. They didn't sound like Molly's at all. And he was even more surprised when the lights were turned on and instead of seeing his pathologist he found himself face to face with Tom, the former fiancé of said pathologist.

"What are you doing here?" Tom asked angrily, "You have no right to be in my flat."

"Your flat? The Barts personnel files said… oh, she either forgot to go to human resources and let them know of the change or they were to lazy to make the change. Probably the later."

"So you're here for Molly. Well she isn't here. She left me… because of you."

"I always knew she was smart." Sherlock said before walking past the younger man and exiting the flat. He's going to have to talk to Mycroft again and get the correct address this time. Not the conversation he was looking forward to. It was already difficult for him to call his brother once. But twice. And for a woman. Mycroft will comment on it for years.

Unless…

* * *

Three days later Molly Hooper walked in her homey flat after a long shift and was just about to drop her bag on the sofa when the cell phone in her pocket chimed. She got a new text message.

She sighed. It was probably Tom again. He called and texted her several times in the past several days and it was getting on her nerves. But as she pulled the phone from her pocket and looked at the screen she saw the sender wasn't her ex fiancé. The text came from Sherlock.

Opening it she saw it was just a short message.

_Come to Baker Street at once. It's a case of emergency. SH_

She closed her eyes and sighed. What happened this time?

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who read and review. You are giving me a great inspiration to keep writing. That's why I'll do my best not to make you wait a whole week before posting the next chapter.**


	6. Chapter 6: Ruined plans

**I'm doing my best to keep Sherlock in character but when it comes to romance it's just not possible. So please don't be alarmed if he's slightly OOC in the next chapters. I do promise he will not pledge undying love to anyone every second paragraph. I really like this story and I refuse to do that.**

**In other news: I still don't own anything. That includes really good knowledge of English language so if you happen to find any mistakes let me know and I'll fix them.**

* * *

John Watson wasn't a happy man right now.

Twenty minutes earlier he received a call from Molly, the pathologist asked him to check up on Sherlock, apparently he called her to Baker Street saying it's urgent. Actually Sherlock texted it was an emergency. So it made perfect sense that Molly asked the retired army doctor to go and see if everything was alright with his best friend.

Truth be told, he too was a bit worried. Last time Sherlock asked Molly for help he ended up faking his death. So yes, John Watson did in fact leave his pregnant wife at home and drove to his former place of residence. Mary didn't mind, luckily for him. She even joked that the consulting detective needed adult supervision from time to time. Although, that was more stating a fact than a joke.

John couldn't help but wonder what kind of problem could Sherlock got himself into this time. He hadn't heard any news about the poisoning case; he was a bit out of the loop now that he worked in the clinic and didn't spend so much time chasing criminals across London.

Finding a free spot with ease he parked on the large parking lot of the nearest shop and walked the rest of the way to 221 Baker Street. He would have parked right in front of the house but didn't want a ticket.

The lights in the flat were on, that much was visible from the street, and a dark silhouette briefly appeared before vanishing again. So Sherlock was home and he was pacing. Not unusual for the consulting detective, he did that all the time when he was bored.

John groaned. The emergency… Sherlock probably texted Molly to come to the flat because he was bored. He most likely wanted to charm the kindhearted girl into bringing him body parts. If that was the case then John will have a very serious conversation with Sherlock, again, about him unnecessarily worrying their friends and making them believe something bad had happened.

Although, considering he knew and lived with the consulting detective for several years, John was also a bit angry at himself for not figuring it out earlier. Possibly before he drove for twenty minutes to see what the overgrown child needed this time.

Since he still had the key it was no problem for him to let himself in the house. The doors to Mrs. Hudson's flat were closed and there was no light or sound coming from it. It was a strange sight. John hoped the landlady will soon get released from the hospital, but considering she was being taken cared of there and will have to do everything on her own once she's back home perhaps it was better for her to remain in Barts a bit longer.

The sound of footsteps was heard from the flat on the first floor so John went up the stairs to find out what Sherlock needed. And that better not be some body part.

He just reached the landing and walked through the always opened door when Sherlock turned around with an actual honest smile on his face that vanished the moment he saw his friend standing there. That convinced John something was definitely going on.

"John? What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here. You need to leave, John. Molly will be here any minute now and you shouldn't be here when she does. You'll ruin everything. Leave. Go on." Sherlock seemed almost frantic as he tried to push his friend out of the flat and basically out of the house.

"Sherlock? What's going on? Molly isn't coming." That made the consulting detective stop and look at his friend.

John found it comical that Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he tried to figure everything out. Good luck with that, John himself didn't know what was going on.

"Why isn't she coming? I told her to come. I texted Molly to come to Baker Street. She always comes when I text her."

"Not today." John said moving past his friend who stood rooted in front of the door.

He walked across the room and sat down in his good old armchair. It was the most comfortable thing he ever sat on and he wondered if it would be acceptable to just take it home. It was designated as his after all. But he discarded that idea right away, not only would Mary point out it didn't exactly fit in with the rest of their furniture, which it wouldn't, but because he couldn't imaging 221B without the second armchair. It was here the whole time, keeping company the black leather chair Sherlock preferred.

"Not today…" he heard Sherlock mutter, still frozen at the same spot, "I asked her to come and she's not coming…"

"Sherlock, what is going on?" he asked finally but instead of giving him an answer the consulting detective turned around and stomped to the coffee table and grabbed his cell phone.

"Fine. I'll just text here again and again until she comes."

"Oh, no you won't." John said as he quickly jumped out of the comfortable seat and in few quick steps reached Sherlock just in time to take the phone out of his hand before he managed to send another text to Molly.

"John, I need that phone. Give me back my phone."

The retired army doctor was completely unfazed by his friend's threatening voice; instead he crossed his arms across his chest, the phone still firmly in his grasp, and frowned at the overgrown child that was currently sending him death glares.

"What is going on, Sherlock? Seriously, what? Do you need help with the case, cause I can help? I've been helping you for years."

Sherlock grinned, "Feeling replaced, are we?"

John rolled his eyes, "No. I just don't want you to bother Molly for something that isn't important."

"Well maybe this is important! Have you ever thought of that?" Sherlock protested.

"So it is about the case?"

"No!" the detective scowled, "I solved it this afternoon. Lestrade will finalize everything tomorrow."

"Aha." John muttered, "And now you're bored and want Molly to bring you body parts." He guessed.

"The only body I need from Molly is her own! I…" Sherlock jelled to correct his friend, but stopped mid-rant after realizing what he said.

John was obviously surprised by that statement because he was observing him with a small grin on his face, "Oh, really?"

"Get that grin off your face. I merely phrased that wrong."

"By all means, phrase it correctly." John spoke with amusement in his voice. It was rather fun when the consulting detective got all flustered.

"I invited Molly to come to Baker Street because I wanted to do something with her." Sherlock spoke slowly and then stopped and sighed, "I phrased that wrong again. Quit grinning John."

But there was no stopping John now. Just moments later the doctor started to laugh and was forced to lean on the table covered with papers. He completely ignored Sherlock who was observing him with disdain in his eyes and desperately tried to catch his breath. But at the moment that seems like an impossible thing to do.

Sherlock huffed and walked past his laughing friend. He sat down in his armchair and closed his eyes trying to ignore the sound, he needed to think. He needed to figure out what his plan didn't work. He texted Molly like he always did, but instead of her John arrived. That made no sense. She always came when he called her.

"Alright." John wheezed, finally composing himself, and sat in the armchair opposite of his friend, "Care to start from the beginning? Why did you invite Molly over?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at his friend, "She sees me. Really sees me. That is rare, John. Not even you can do that."

"What are you talking about? I can see you just fine right now."

"No, what I meant… that night, right before the fall, while we were in the lab she said something that made me realize how wrong I was about her. Moriarty was wrong too. That's how I survived John. Because Molly saw me." Sherlock's voice was soft in a way his friend never heard before, "I looked sad that night. You didn't notice, I didn't let you notice. But Molly Hooper did notice. She said her dad looked the same way when he was dying, when he thought she couldn't see him. But she saw him once and she recognized the look. She said if I ever need anything I could have her, have her help. So that's what I did. I returned to the lab later that night, just when she was getting ready to leave, and I told her I needed her. I told her I was going to die. If she hadn't noticed me that night I never would have come up with a plan, I never would have believed I had a chance to survive. But because of Molly I did survive."

John was quiet for few minutes before he took a shaky breath and focused on his friend, "Alright. That explains some things but now what happened tonight. Why did you invite Molly over?" he repeated the question hoping to get an answer this time and then, hopefully, help his friend.

"Because I need to fix things between us."

"I wasn't aware things were broken?"

"Did you notice she left the wedding reception early?" he asked and John froze. That alone was the answer Sherlock needed, "I didn't either. I realized sometimes later she wasn't around but I merely thought she was in the toilet. She left early and I didn't saw it. She was sad when I saw her the next time, I saw that, but I failed to observe. It wasn't till days later that I realized her ring was gone."

"The engagement ring?" John asked surprised by the revelation, "I didn't really paid any attention to her hands when I saw her in the hospital, I know she doesn't wear it at work."

"She didn't wear it when she came to Barts the night Mrs. Hudson had a heart attack either." Sherlock said and John frowned.

Molly was his friend, how could he not have noticed something like that. But then again, Sherlock didn't either. Although that doesn't really make things better.

"Have you talked to her about it?"

"I planed to talk to her three days ago. I got her address from her file at Barts, called Mycroft actually to get it for me. But it was the wrong address." The detective scowled, "It was Tom's flat. She moved out from there, not surprisingly. Not sure what she was doing there in the first place. The flat looked more sterile then Barts morgue."

"So… you haven't talked to her." John concluded, "Why did you wait three days?"

"Because I needed a plan. When Tom arrived at the flat, I was still there by the way waiting for Molly, he said she left him because of me."

"Oh." Was all John managed to say for few minutes, a few very quiet minutes during which both men leaned in the armchairs and tried to decide what to do next.

In Sherlock's case he needed to figure out how to get Molly to Baker Street because his plan obviously didn't work, the face John Watson was sitting opposite of him was the proof. John, in the other hand, tried to decide how to help Sherlock out. But he needed more information first.

"So when you invited Molly over tonight it was to talk to her about what Tom said?" he guessed.

"What? No, of course not. I know Tom lied abut the reason she left him, it was fairly obvious considering the state of his hair, the lipstick smudge on the collar of his shirt and the fact his fly was open."

"I didn't need to know that Sherlock." John groaned and shook his head like that motion would help eject that mental image from his head.

"Well, you asked?" Sherlock pointed out, "You wanted to know what my plans were for tonight."

"Regarding Molly!" his friend snapped, "Earlier you managed to express yourself wrong, twice, when I asked for your plans. So, why did you text Molly Hooper and said it was an emergency? As far as I can see there is no emergency. There is just you in your dressing gown stomping across the flat because you're bored. God, what I wouldn't give to be on a honeymoon right now. But I'm now the only doctor at the clinic since the other one got arrested for… were you by any chance connected to that?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I had nothing to do with that. And I wasn't bored. I was making plans. I wanted to do what I failed to do at the wedding." Sherlock said and John waived his hand to show his friend he needed to more specific, "I wanted to dance with her."

* * *

Molly Hooper was tired and hungry and desperately needed a shower. A massage would be great too but unfortunately that wasn't going to happen. She wondered briefly if she should buy one of those massage chairs that you just plug in, select a program and relax. She heard someone mentioning it in the canteen last week and it seemed like a good idea.

But Molly being the way she is didn't want to waste money on something she would use every day for a week and then never again. And she was certain that's exactly what would happen. She would come up with excuses and the chair would end up collecting dust.

So a hot shower would have to do for her sore muscles.

She unlocked the building entrance doors and walked in the foyer. It was dark and she felt around the wall for the light switch. It was one of those switches that were used to save electricity by turning on the light when pressed and then turned it off automatically two minutes later.

She was so focused on finding the elusive piece of plastic she didn't notice the figure standing on the other side of the street observing the dark entrance and then smiling when Molly managed to find the switch and become visible again to her silent shadow.

The shadow that was following her for the past week everywhere she went. It didn't matter if it was to work or back home, to the nearest shop for groceries, and even that one time when she went to New Scotland Yard to talk to Greg about the poisoning case that turned out to be an accident because the workers at the farm made a mistake and dried the wrong plant for tea. She was always followed, always watched. And she was unaware of it.

The black car stopped in front of the figure that stood in the shadows and the driver stepped outside. He opened the back door and waited for the person to get in. He was even given an order to use force if necessary and he made that clear to his soon to be passenger.

The ride took almost an hour, and from time to time the driver would glance at the rear-view mirror and check at his cargo. Usually, when he did this kind of thing, which wasn't as often as one may think, there was usually one more passenger. She was suspiciously missing tonight and he wondered for a moment if it was a direct order from his employer or if she simply had other things to do. And then he came to a conclusion it wasn't something he should bother himself with.

His employer knew exactly why he was doing this in this particular way.

The warehouse was deserted at this time of night which suited Mycroft Holmes just well for his current need of speaking to a certain individual privately. He leaned on his umbrella and smiled, the driver was as punctual as ever. It was a good thing; it meant the fool didn't give him any problems.

The back door opened and a man stepped outside before focusing on Mycroft. The British government noticed he gulped before approaching the metal chair that was between him and the car. The chair John Watson declined years ago.

"Hello Tom." He greeted the newcomer, "Do you mind if I call you Tom? Alright then."

"Who are you? And, no! You can't call me Tom. Only my friends can call me by my first name."

"It's not important who I am, not at all. What is important is what I see. And I see everything Tom." Mycroft smiled sweetly before repeating, "Everything."

"What does that supposed to mean? Why am I here?"

"It started one week ago. The day after you had an unexpected visitor in your flat. You sent an email to your employer and informed her of an unexisting family emergency and then proceeded to stalk-"

"I'm not stalking anyone!" Tom protested loudly, his polished facade disappearing more and more every second.

Mycroft rolled his eyes annoyed by the interruption, "I don't know how he does it, interaction with people is so tedious. Always having to repeat yourself because they listen but they don't hear." He focused back on Tom, "I see everything Tom. I saw you following Molly Hooper everywhere she went for the past week. And it's going to stop tonight."

"You can't forbid me from making sure my fiancé is safe at all times." Tom sounded like a spiteful kid at the moment and Mycroft tried to understand what the doctor saw in the fool. Sure, there was a minimal similarity between him and Sherlock but personality wise this one was as different from his brother as possible. And he won't even start on the intellectual difference.

"Yes, your fiancé. Is this perhaps the same fiancé who broke off the engagement the day you didn't accompanied her to the Watson's wedding?"

"Look, they are her friends, not my friends. I had better things to do."

"And from now on you will also find better things to do then follow doctor Hooper around. You won't call, you won't text. Unless she initiates contact you will not talk to her. Do I make myself clear?"

"Why should I listen to you? Because of some empty threats? Who are you anyway?"

"Oh, I hold a minor position in the British government." Mycroft gave him his usual answer before adding, "But I will give you another information. Sherlock Holmes once called me the most dangerous man you are ever likely to meet."

"So you know him?" Tom was unimpressed.

"Yes, quite well. And just like him I can read your entire life history by just one look. So unless you want to face complete humiliation in both private and personal life you will do exactly what I say. Leave Molly Hooper alone!"

"Alright! Fine! I'll leave her alone!" Tom snapped, "Why is she so important to you anyway?"

"Because… I was told she counts."

* * *

At the same time, exactly one week after John walked in the flat believing there is an actual emergency, Mary and he entered 221 Baker Street and went upstairs to talk to Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson still wasn't released but John expected it to happen any day now.

But before that happened they needed to make plans with the consulting detective regarding a certain pathologist.

* * *

**Big THANK YOU to all who read and review! I'm happy to see the story receiving such great response. **

**Because of that I'll try to complete and publish chapter 7 this weekend. It's working title is: Odd happenings. **


	7. Chapter 7: Helpful friends

**I said I would post the next chapter this weekend and I did. Despite the fact it's technically Monday here since it's 2 am and I can't type properly anymore. **

**One more chapter to go and even then I won't own Sherlock. Sadly.**

* * *

Sherlock was completely unaware of the two people that moved around his flat for the past ten minutes. John made tea for his wife and himself, and left an extra cup on the coffee table in front of his unresponsive friend. He hoped they would catch Sherlock bored between cases and get him to listen to what they have to say and hopefully get him to agree with their plan.

Instead they arrived to Baker Street when the consulting detective was deep inside his mind palace and didn't respond no matter how many times they called his name.

"Maybe we should go home and try again tomorrow." John suggested as he took a seat in his armchair.

Mary, who got comfortable in Sherlock's black leather chair, frowned at him and shook her head before taking a sip of her hot tea. She worked hard on coming up with an idiot proof plan and she wanted to see it happen as soon as possible. And this Saturday was perfect for it. That also meant they only had two more days to get everything they need together.

"You know how rarely she takes weekends off. We have a perfect opportunity and if we miss this Saturday who knows when we'll be able to do it again." Mary pointed out and her husband sighed, he knew she was right but at the same time they were losing time. They needed Sherlock to agree to everything and help out with certain details and he was currently on a sofa impersonating a corpse.

"I hope you are ready for an argument. He'll never agree. And why does it have to be a weekend?" John said leaning back in the comfortable armchair, "We need to get one like this for our place."

His wife ignored the comment about the chair and instead pointed out, "It just does, and he'll agree. He did try to fix things last week, you said so yourself. Perhaps he'll see us trying to help as meddling in his life but eventually he'll have to admit we're right. And if nothing else helps I'll remind him he's arguing with a pregnant woman and that he should stop if he knows what's good for him."

"He's Sherlock. Try to use that argument and he'll deduce how much weight you've put on."

Mary frowned, "He wouldn't."

"Oh, but he would." John said smiling at his wife.

Mrs. Watson sent a glare in the direction of the prone figure on the sofa before looking towards the table covered with papers, "Are there any markers among that mess?"

"Sure. Why?"

"I want to draw him a mustache. Like the one he had in the restaurant when he came to inform you he's not dead. You remember?" a sour look on her husband's face made Mary grin, "Yes, I see you do remember. He looks good with mustache."

"Better then me?" John teased.

"You looked ancient." A deep voice startled the couple, "It needed to go away; I couldn't be seen running around with an old man."

"Not a word." John said to his wife just as she opened her mouth to comment. He knew exactly what she wanted to tease him with.

Instead Mary smiled conspicuously at him before focusing on the consulting detective, "How long were you aware we are in the flat?"

"Long enough to hear what you planed to do with a marker." Sherlock answered after sitting up and taking a cup of the table. He took a sip and added, "I heard you come in and thought if I stay still you'll leave. Didn't work as planed."

"We're here to help Sherlock." John said after few minutes of silence.

"I don't need help." Sherlock sounded insulted, "Help with what?"

"With what you failed to do last week. Fixing things with Molly. Am I wrong to assume you haven't been at Barts since?" John asked as he stood up and took his and Mary's cup to the kitchen and placed them in the surprisingly empty sink.

"Of course I went to Barts! I went to visit Mrs. Hudson."

"But you haven't been to the morgue." Mary pointed out and the consulting detective frowned.

He tried to make an excuse and blame the low number of interesting cases but the Watson's weren't fooled. They knew he avoided the pathologist because he didn't know how to approach her. Mary would never say it out loud for Sherlock to hear but she thought it was sweet that he was so nervous about talking to Molly. It was obvious she was important to him.

"Had no reason to." Sherlock said fully knowing that argument is completely invalid. How many times did he visit the morgue without any valid reason in the past? How many times did he drag John along just so he would have company as he annoyed Molly and tried to get some body part from her?

"Nice try." John's words confirmed the retired army doctor reacted in the way he expected him to.

"We want to help, Sherlock. You and Molly are friends and something happened between you two that-"

"Nothing happened!" Sherlock interrupted Mary and the blonde woman frowned.

"Well maybe something should happen. John said you invited her over last week because you wanted to dance with her."

The consulting detective nodded, "I didn't dance with her at the wedding. And then she left early and I never got the chance to ask her."

"Would you have asked? If she had stayed longer." Mary asked and Sherlock nodded silently, "Then let us help you accomplish that."

* * *

Molly Hooper opened her eyes and smiled. It's been a while since she was this content, this rested. The shift ended on time with no surprise postmortems at the end of her work hours, no paperwork that needed to be filled right that instant, and most importantly no consulting detective demanding to see a body or help with an experiment.

A frown appeared on Molly's face the moment she remembered the state of her friendship with Sherlock. To be honest, she had no idea in which state it was. He invited her along to help him with cases and appreciated her input. He asked if she wanted to go eat with him and wished her luck with Tom. He acted like a friend should. And then the wedding happened.

Throwing the covers away she got out of the bed and took the soft purple dressing gown from the hook on the bedroom door. It was a gift from Tom and was the same color as Jeanine's dress. Remembering those two facts Molly huffed and let it fall on the floor before she got the old ratty one from her wardrobe. It was petty of her but she didn't care.

Moving to the kitchen to make tea and something for breakfast she focused on Sherlock again, more specifically on what happened since the wedding. She was angry at him but at the same time angry at herself.

He didn't dance with her but why would he? It made more sense that he dances with the maid of honor then with someone who is engaged to another man. He didn't notice the ring was missing from her finger but how could he? She didn't wear it during postmortems, rings and plastic cloves don't work well together.

He didn't notice she was sad… only he did. It took a while but he did. And she blew him off without listening what he had to say.

Molly huffed and slammed her tea cup on the table. She was doing it again, making excuses for Sherlock's behavior. Just like she always did. And for the same reason too. She loved the git, there was no helping it. And he didn't see her as anything else but a friend and potential helper in case John was unable to come along.

Briefly she wondered what would have happened if she wasn't engaged to Tom that day when he asked her if she wanted to grab some fish and chips. She knew it was useless to think about those things, about what could have been. It was all in the past and never coming back.

She needed to move forward and not be discouraged because her first attempt at doing just so failed. Not all men were like Tom.

But no man was like Sherlock.

It was half an hour later, when Molly finished her meal and made herself comfortable on the sofa with a book in her hand that someone knocked on her door. A sigh escaped her and she dropped the thick book on the coffee table and stood up. And to think she actually believed she would have a whole weekend for herself without anyone dropping by unannounced. What was she thinking?

"Mary? Hullo!" she was surprised as she opened the front door and saw the blonde woman standing on the other side.

"Hi Molly. May I come in?"

"Oh, yes. Of course." She opened the door wider to let the other woman in and closed it after her.

Molly looked down on herself and sighed. She didn't bother to change out of her pajamas and the old dressing gown after breakfast; in fact she planed to stay dressed that way the entire weekend. Perhaps that wasn't such a good idea.

"Lovely place you have here." Mary commented looking around the sitting room, "It looks really cozy."

"It is." Molly agreed before offering to make tea. But Mary had different plans. And before she managed to understand what was going on Molly found herself back in her bedroom with her friend going through her wardrobe. Why? She had no idea.

"I just don't want to go looking for baby thing alone, and looking online is no fun. I tried and clicked on one link and instantly a half dozen pop up windows opened. I gave up after that." Mary was saying as she went through the clothes on the hangers, "John and I agreed we won't wait till birth to find out the gender. Being surprised is fun but I would rather be prepared. Do you have any summer dresses?"

The change of subject confused Molly and it took her a few moments to answer, "No, I don't really wear dresses much. I have a dress I wore at the wedding and a black dress I refuse to wear ever again but that's about it."

"Oh, is it the dress from the Christmas party?" Mary asked before she managed to stop herself. She turned towards Molly, her face reveling she felt sorry for asking in the first place, "John told me about what happened. He doesn't seem like that anymore. Sherlock, I mean."

"No, he doesn't." Molly agreed, "He's friendlier now."

"God, I wish I've knew him before." A grin appeared on Mary's face.

Molly chuckled, "Good thing you didn't. I don't think you and John would have stayed together and got married. He was very efficient at chasing away any girl John showed even a little interest in."

"Oh, I have to thank him then. If it wasn't for him chasing them away I wouldn't be Mrs. Watson now." Mary commented with a wide grin, "Now, back to the subject of your clothes."

"Why are you looking through my clothes anyway? I'm not planning to do anyway."

"But I am. And here we go." Mary pulled out a nice cream skirt that reached just below knees and picked a tan shirt with short crochet sleeves with it, "Go take a shower and change and then we'll go."

Seeing it was useless to try and argue with Mary Molly picked the clothes, together with clean underwear and went to do as told. She knew it was no use to try and reason with a pregnant woman. So she might as well forget her plans of doing nothing.

Not that she actually minded that Mary wanted her to come along. She knew Mary had other friends, it was obvious at the wedding, and didn't actually need her to come along. So below the thin layer of annoyance Molly was actually pleased. Her list of friends was rather small for years now. Working in a morgue does that to a person's social life.

* * *

Mary Watson made herself comfortable in the sitting room while Molly was taking a shower. She leaned back on the comfortable sofa and pulled out her cell phone to send a text. The boys needed to get ready for their part of the plan.

When Molly exited the steamed bathroom fully dressed and almost ready to go, she still needed to put on shoes and grab her bag, she found Mary looking though a photo album that was previously on the shelf.

"I suppose it was easier for you to keep believing in him since you knew he was still alive." She said turning the page and finding more photographs of the graffiti that Molly carefully collected while Sherlock was away for those two long years.

"I would have believed in him even if I didn't know it. Because I know him."

"Does Sherlock know about this?" Mary asked as she traced the letters on one of the pictures that was cut from the newspaper. It was the first time the title Watson's Warriors appeared written on a wall.

"No. No one knows. To be honest I don't even know why I did that, why I kept all those photos and put them in an album."

"Because you needed to know you weren't the only one who believed. Because it gave you solace." Mary offered and explanation and smiled kindly, "You should show it to Sherlock sometimes."

Molly shook her head, "He'll just tell me I was wasting my time."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Mary shrugged before standing up and lowering the album on the coffee table next to the book Molly planed to read, "Enough of this, let's go. We have a lot of shops to go through today while I'm still not too large to fit through the door."

"You're in your first trimester." Molly said as Mary walked past her and out the door she held open for the pregnant woman.

"And before I know it I'll be as big as a house."

* * *

It took them little over half an hour to reach Westfield shopping center. Despite it being open several years ago Molly never went to the London's largest shopping mall and she enjoyed looking around the huge central Atrium that had a beautiful glass roof. Mary smiled at her giddiness and grabbed her hand so they wouldn't get separated in the crowd before leading the distracted pathologist towards the elevator.

"You know, I completely forgot to ask." Molly spoke as they exited on the second floor, "How did you know where I live? I moved around two weeks ago from the address you sent the wedding invitation to."

But Mary never answered her question. Instead she dragged her into the first children's shop they came across. Molly had a feeling they would visit every single one of them today and wondered exactly how many of them are there.

As it turned out there was far more shops with clothes and equipment for children then Molly expected. After they exited the fifth she was ready to call it quits and leave, never to return. Mary had other plans.

"It's only been two hours. You can't possibly be tired already."

"My schedule was crazy this week and I need rest. That's why I took the entire weekend off. I didn't plan to leave my flat today. Or tomorrow."

"Oh fine. Just one more shop and then we'll take a break and grab a bite. You know there are fifteen restaurants in this place? I'm sure we'll find where they serve something delicious that would charge your batteries for later."

Molly sighed and nodded in agreement, not even bothering to ask what Mary meant with 'for later', before continuing to walk next to the pregnant woman with far too much energy. She glanced at Mary and noticed how radiant she looked. She knew it was because of all the hormones and the wonder they do to a woman's body during the pregnancy. When they aren't changing her moods every few seconds that is.

Of course just one more shop ended up being just three more shops before the two women sat in a nice restaurant and ordered food. The waiter just returned with their orders when Molly noticed a familiar person entering the same restaurant and approaching.

It was obvious Tom didn't realize she was there until he was a few steps away from the table where they sat. And in the moment he saw his former fiancé the color drained from his face and he gasped.

"Hello Tom." Molly greeted him politely.

"Hello Molly." He greeted back before turning towards Mary and nodding in her direction, "Mrs. Watson."

"Having a business lunch?" Molly asked politely because asking if he's meeting the woman he cheated on her with would be exceptionally rude in such a public place. She wasn't as painfully honest as Sherlock. He wouldn't have bothered with any social norms and ask exactly what he wanted to know.

"Yes… I mean, no… Uh… she's… he's not here… I must have entered the wrong restaurant. I'll go look for her… Him… It was great seeing you again Molly." Tom stumbled over his own words before turning around and leaving the restaurant.

From her position she could clearly see him almost crashing into the redhead that was in his flat that night. It looked like she wanted to enter the restaurant but he kept shaking his head before he took her hand and dragged her away.

Molly looked at Mary who looked just as confused, "Odd."

The blonde woman agreed before picking up her fork. What Molly didn't see from her seat across was that Mary had a cell phone in her other hand and was currently sending a text to her husband. He needed to know what just happened.

Or more importantly, Sherlock needed to know. The consulting detective told them what his brother did. She never met Mycroft Holmes but she liked him. He got things done.

Her phone vibrated and she opened the message. It took all of her power not to snort as she read Sherlock was currently folding the napkins to look like Sidney opera house just like at the reception. And she actually believed he deleted that information once it became irrelevant. Sherlock never stopped surprising her.

In the end it weren't just baby related stores they visited. Mary found a Birthday present for John and Molly spent almost an hour in the library. She wasn't even aware they had a library in a shopping center. Once the initial fatigue passed she actually started to enjoy herself.

"What was the last time you had a haircut?" Mary suddenly asked while they were exiting a shoe store.

"What?" was all Molly managed to ask before she was being pulled in the direction of a hair salon.

"Don't worry; nothing drastic. But you need to have those split ends trimmed."

"I know, I've been meaning to go for a while now but I can't find the time."

Mary smiled at her, "Well, there is not better time then the present. You're going to look lovely tonight."

"Tonight? What's tonight?" Molly asked suspiciously.

Mary realized she said too much and tried to cover it up, "I know this great guy that I though you'll like."

"No." Molly interrupted her, "Please, no blind dates. That's how I met Tom. Some friend thought we would be great together and introduced us."

"And you were great together. Till you weren't. What happened?" Mary asked. John told her what Sherlock said, about Tom having lipstick stain on his shirt and some other stuff that led the consulting detective to the deduction Molly was cheated on. But she wanted to hear it from Molly. She knew it would do the pathologist good to talk about it.

"I left the wedding reception early. I… I don't know really why anymore. I kept telling myself it was because… it's not important really. When I arrived back in London and went to the flat Tom had company over. She was just leaving but all the signs were there. On her and in the flat. In the bedroom."

"That arse." Mary mumbled, "You need to find a guy who appreciates you Molly."

Instantly Molly thought about one man she truly loved and knew he doesn't fit in that category and doubted he ever will. At least not in the way she hoped. Sherlock appreciated her friendship, her knowledge, her willingness to help him out. But he didn't appreciate her in the one way she desperately wished he did.

"Someday I will… hopefully."

* * *

It was close to seven in the evening when Mary parked the car in front of Molly's building. They opted to skip dinner since John called and informed his wife he was cooking for them. Mrs. Watson blushed as she relayed the message to Molly and two of them laughed. Mary was extremely fortunate and she knew it. She managed to snag one of the really good ones.

"Despite my initial reluctance I had a really good day." Molly said still sitting in the car with the engine off, "I don't go out much so today was a rare treat for me."

"Me too. But let's not do it far too often. My feet are hurting." Mary suggested making Molly giggle.

"You can always get John to give you a foot massage." She suggested.

"Yes I can. It's my right as his wife. And as a pregnant woman."

They laughed at Mary's words before Molly said her goodbyes and reached to open the car door only to remember something, a question Mary never answered, "So, how _did_ you know where I live?"

Mary sighed, "You may thing otherwise but people do notice you Molly. People who care for you."

Molly merely nodded and exited the vehicle. She walked to the entrance door and fished out the key from her bag.

Once she was inside Mary started the car but before driving off dialed a number, let it ring once and disconnected. She needed to let him know Molly was on her way up.

As it was the Barts best pathologist was completely unaware of the plans and the secret signals and what was waiting for her in her flat.

It was dark when she entered which wasn't surprising but what was surprising was the smell that should be there. She could smell food; something baked that smelled delicious and flowers. Lots of flowers considering how strong their fragrant was.

It made her curious and a tiny bit suspicious. So she did the only thing that made sense at the moment. She reached for the switch and turned on the light.

* * *

**The idea for the photo album with newspaper clips and photographs of the graffiti mentioned in this chapter came from my first Sherlock story _I believe. _I couldn't help but mention it here.**

**Huge thank you to all who read my story! You all rock!**

**(I'll stop typing now before I misspell another word, briefly you all _ricked_)**


	8. Chapter 8: IOU a dance

**Happy Valentine's Day! This is my gift for you all, I hope you like it. I don't own anything other then the fluff in this story.**

**The original name for this chapter was 'First dance' but I couldn't fall asleep last night so I pondered on the meaning of life when this new name appeared in my mind out of nowhere. So I got out of bed and scribbled it in the notebook for the plot ideas to ensure I don't forget it. FYI, it was 2 am at the time.**

* * *

It was dark when Molly Hooper entered her flat which wasn't surprising since she lived alone once more but what was surprising was the smell that should be there. She could smell food; something baked that smelled delicious, and flowers. Lots of flowers considering how strong the fragrant was.

It made her curious and a tiny bit suspicious. So she did the only thing that made sense at the moment. She reached for the switch and turned on the light.

Her sitting room was transformed. The coffee table was moved from the middle of the room to under the window leaving the space in front of the sofa empty. And it was the coffee table that currently housed the large bouquet of flowers, identical to the one on the sideboard on her left and the one on the mantle. That solved one mystery as to where the lovely smells were coming from. Now she needed to know why it smelled like food in here.

But before she could move from her spot a sound of footsteps coming from the direction of the bathroom startled her and made her turn around towards the unknown intruder who apparently made her dinner. Only, he wasn't unknown. She knew him quite well.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?"

Molly was completely confused. Not only was Sherlock Holmes in her flat, despite the fact he's not supposed to know where she lives now, but he was wearing the morning suit he had on for the Watson's wedding. Alright, the first part was easy to explain, she knew how well the homeless network worked and that they could find out pretty much any information Sherlock needed in less then a day. That is unless he swallows his pride and asks his brother for help. Then it takes just few minutes.

She had a feeling the second part would require a lengthy explanation.

But Sherlock wasn't yet ready to explain himself. Instead he simply asked, "Hungry?"

Not knowing what to say to that she simply nodded and moved towards her kitchen with the consulting detective right behind her. What she saw when she stepped through the doorway surprised her even more then the state of her sitting room.

The table for two that she had in the kitchen, since a larger one wouldn't fit in the small room, was now covered with a pale blue tablecloth with two plates, utensils and wine glasses placed neatly on top. The napkins were nicely folded and placed onto the plates. There was even a small centerpiece with white roses in the middle.

But the biggest hint as to what was going on was a suspicious absence of her regular wooden chairs. Instead transparent plastic chairs were on their usual spots.

"Sherlock…" Molly whispered before turning to look at the consulting detective that stood on her right.

Usually a stoic person Sherlock looked surprisingly uncomfortable by the display in front of him. In that moment Molly wondered if he even wanted to be here. He certainly looked ready to bolt at any moment.

"I… please sit down and I'll serve dinner." Sherlock moved away from Molly and towards the table before he pulled the chair out for her to sit. John told him he needed to be on his best behavior, something he was more then aware of, if he wanted to impress Molly and have the evening progress as planed. Which basically meant no rude remarks or she just may throw him out of her flat and perhaps even out of her life.

Not that he had any reasons to make any rude remarks regarding the way Molly looked tonight. If he was to comment on her current appearance he would say she never looked so lovely. And he will, later, after she stops looking at him like that.

"Thank you." Molly said with a smile as she took a seat. She still wasn't sure exactly what was going on. It was obvious Sherlock was trying to recreate the reception but she couldn't fandom why he would do such a thing. And for her of all people.

Sherlock moved towards the stove and took out two plates that stood on the counter. He was very grateful Angelo agreed to do this for him because if he tried to cook a three course meal on his own it would have ended up in disaster. He heard people describe cooking as simple chemistry and that made sense but his few attempts to make something more complicated, like the meal that was prepared for the evening, always ended up as his earliest chemistry experiments. Namely something caught fire.

He placed the plate in front of Molly first before placing the other one in front of the empty chair and taking a seat himself. He glanced towards the woman opposite of him and noticed she was looking between him and the food on the plate.

"I suppose you want an explanation why I'm doing this." He said before taking a deep breath and getting ready to start his rather long explanation.

But as always Molly Hooper surprised him by simply saying, "No, all I want right now is to enjoy the meal."

Sherlock sighed in relief and picked up his knife and fork. He ate the food at the wedding but barely tasted it, the mere thought of the speech he would be delivering after the meal made his insides twist.

Strangely enough, he was supposed to make a speech tonight too but that feeling was missing. He was supposed to tell Molly why he was doing all of this and say he was sorry for what he had done and how he treated her, that second part being John's idea, and yet he didn't feel nervous at all.

He wasn't sure if it was because there was only one person with him tonight or because that person was Molly Hooper. Or maybe it was a combination of those two things. Molly saw right through his mask when no one else did, she helped him, saved him and believed in him.

"I saw the photo album." He said casually after finishing eating the delicious canapé.

Molly froze before glancing towards the sitting room. The album was no longer on the coffee table where Mary left it before they went out. That thought reminded her. Mary.

She looked at Sherlock and smiled slightly, hoping there wasn't a remark of how she was wasting her time coming her way. But he had a small smile on his face, like he was pleased with something. With her.

"It wasn't planed but eventually I couldn't help myself. It meant a lot to know not everyone believed the garbage Kitty Riley was writing about you. For a longest time people left flowers and lit candles outside of Barts. Not to mention all the messages of support in the phone booth." She sighed sadly, "I believed because I knew you, I knew what you could do. They believed because they wanted to. That's worth more."

"Not to me." the honesty in Sherlock's voice made Molly focus exclusively on him, "You believed first and because of that I managed to survive. I'm not good with emotions and sentiment, you know that, but I'm starting to understand and appreciate them. That's why I'm doing all this tonight."

"Do you need more time to collect your thoughts?" she asked and Sherlock gratefully thanked her before picking up the now empty plates and taking them away. He placed them both in the sink before turning off the oven and pulling out the next meal. He was very carefully holding them with a cloth seeing the plates were hot; he wanted to make sure the roast and vegetables didn't get cold before Molly returned from the shopping trip with Mary.

"How long have you been planning this?" Molly asked after he sat back down.

"I haven't. My plan wasn't so detailed. I just texted you to come to Baker Street because it's an emergency. And you-"

"I called John to check up on you." Molly finished for him and looked around confused, he was saying one thing but the state of her flat was telling a completely different story. There was obviously some very careful planning involved and she knew Mary was somehow connected to the whole thing and in that case so was John.

The silence surrounded them as they ate, neither of them knowing what to say next. It wasn't as uncomfortable as it would have been before the Fall, before Sherlock realized Molly mattered.

The meal was as delicious as the one at the reception, and Sherlock poured Molly some red wine to go with it. While the plan was to make this evening as similar as possible to the wedding day reception there were some things Sherlock insisted on to be different. For example he knew Molly preferred red wine.

And then there was that important difference that he knew will mean a lot to his pathologist.

"That evening my plan didn't work and I'm glad for it. It was a bit not good." Sherlock admitted as he lowered the utensils on the now empty plate, "In fact I didn't actually have a plan. I just wanted to…"

Molly leaned towards him when he trailed off, "You just wanted to… what, Sherlock?"

"I just wanted to dance with you. Something I haven't had the chance to do at the reception."

Molly lowered her gaze and said sadly, "You were too busy dancing with Janine."

"Molly-" he started to speak but she interrupted him.

"It seems stupid now, doesn't it? Me leaving early. I mean, what right do I have to complain about who you danced with? You are a grown man and if you preferred to dance with the maid of honor, which was pretty much expected of the best man, then you can. And besides I was with Tom… at the time. And…"

"It was just one dance." Sherlock said as Molly struggled to find the right words to explain how she feels, "I was never interested in her. In fact she thought I would be being useful for her to find a good bloke among the guests."

Molly nodded and looked Sherlock straight in the eyes, "And you want to try again tonight? To dance with me."

"If you would allow me the honor." He answered with a small smile decorating his face.

"Can the desert wait?" Molly asked. She remembered the delicious ice cream, chocolate and raspberry sauce served for the third course, and although the thought of it made her mouth water a dance with Sherlock is something she would choose over anything else.

"Of course." He answered, stood up, and offered her his hand.

Sherlock led Molly to the sitting room and let go of her hand. She watched him move to the stereo and turn it on, the little display showed there was a CD inside that was about to start playing. That intrigued the pathologist. Were they about to dance to the same music Sherlock played for John and Mary? It seemed strange considering Mary mentioned earlier today she framed the music sheet with the composition Sherlock wrote just for them and hung it in their home. It was their song.

When the sound of the violin started Molly smiled. She didn't know what it was he was playing but she knew it was Sherlock who created that beautiful sound on the old wooden instrument. Sherlock smiled back, he may not know the exact reason for her smile, but he knew her well enough to know it was somehow connected to him.

He once more offered her his hand and she accepted without hesitation. Her left hand went to his shoulder and Sherlock gently placed his on her waist. Molly could swear her heart skipped a beat at the gentle touch. Something like that never happened before, not even with Tom, but she wasn't surprised. Only Sherlock Holmes could make her truly feel like that.

They started to dance silently, just move to the sound of the gentle music. It was as soft as the composition from the reception but somehow different. A bit faster; playful maybe. She wasn't certain how to explain what she heard.

"It's not the same one." Sherlock said eventually, responding to her thoughts like he knew them.

"I don't recognize it." she commented, "Is it from a famous composer?"

"Oh, he's famous. Just not as a composer." A small grin appeared on Sherlock's face that revealed to Molly what she wanted to know.

"You wrote this one as well. It's beautiful Sherlock."

"It's for you."

The words made Molly speechless and the silence surrounded them again. They didn't mind. It was a peaceful feeling after the weeks of tension between them. But one question remained.

"I still don't understand why you're doing all this." Molly spoke gently, afraid she'll destroy the serenity, "You could have just apologized."

"I apologized before, several times, after I hurt you. But we both knew I wasn't being completely honest, I just said the words without really meaning them, because I needed you to cooperate and that was the easiest way. And you let me. I manipulated you, misused your feelings for me, and never gave you anything in return." Sherlock looked ashamed as he spoke, "That changed after the Fall, I changed. I tried not to be such a bastard. It didn't work as well as planed. Nothing works as planed when it comes to you."

"Tonight worked." Molly smiled widely.

"Tonight was Mary's idea. She thought it would mean more to you then if I just showed up and-"

"You're here. That's all it matters. I thought you would deduce me and realize that that means more to me than the flowers and the food."

Sherlock's hand on Molly's waist tightened and her breath hitched, "I haven't deduced you since I came back. I wanted to respect you, something I never truly done before. That's why it took me so long to realize you were sad, that your engagement ended. I saw you but I didn't observe."

Molly pulled her right hand from Sherlock's and he stopped, his eyes widening slightly, thinking she would break away from him. And that's when he felt his own heart skip a beat. Because Molly didn't push him away like he believed she would. Instead she wrapped both her hands around his neck and leaned towards him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

Sherlock's left hand joined his right on her waist and he pulled her closer, something he never imagined to do. With anyone. But Molly Hooper was different, she wasn't just any woman; she was his pathologist, his friend, his savior.

"Tom cheated on me." Molly eventually said and Sherlock frowned. He knew that already, he deduced it when he saw the man in his flat. But to hear her admitting it… it made him angry.

"He's a fool if he believes he found someone better. Someone prettier."

"I didn't feel very pretty that night. My hair was a mess from the wind after I left the reception and my dress was wrinkled." Molly admitted sadly, "She looked far better when I saw her."

"I like it when your hair is down." Sherlock said and Molly looked at him in surprise, "And the yellow dress looked lovely on you. It suited you, your personality."

"I felt invisible in it. Like I was fading into the background since the shade matched the walls."

"You weren't invisible Molly. I noticed you. Maybe not when it mattered the most, when you left, but I did notice." Sherlock comforted her, "You were a bit hard not to notice with that silly bow in your hair."

Molly groaned and looked away to hide the blush of embarrassment. She knew that bloody bow was a stupid idea from the start. And the worst part was she still had it in the purse she had with her at the wedding. For some reason unknown to her she decided to keep it.

"I don't really know what to say to all this. To tonight and everything you did." She mumbled after few minutes finally noticing the music stopped and they were still dancing. But she didn't want to stop and by the looks of things neither did Sherlock.

Sherlock pulled away slightly and looked her in the eyes, "When I helped Mary with the planning, since John was pretty useless, she wanted the bridesmaids in lilac and the ushers to have the vest and tie in the contrast color. Since John decided not to have any, with my help again, I will tell you all about that some other time, and instead opted to just have a best man it was just the two of us with cream yellow details and-"

"Why are you telling me all this?" Molly was confused.

"Because you mentioned Janine earlier and I never got to explain. I danced with her because it was a custom, it was required. But she wasn't my match; we contrast each other just like the clothes we wore that day." Sherlock smiled before adding, "But you Molly, you matched me. Just like you do tonight."

Molly gasped and looked down at herself. The cream skirt she wore was the same shade as Sherlock's tie. She wasn't sure if that was part of Mary's plan or just a happy coincidence and she honestly couldn't care less.

"Sherlock-" she began to speak but gasped in surprise as the consulting detective gently cupped her cheek.

She looked directly into his eyes and saw tenderness she never noticed before, that he never allowed her to notice before. It seemed that for the very first time Sherlock Holmes allowed her to see the real him, not just by accident when he thought no one could see him, but voluntarily. It was a final proof of his faith in her. He removed the mask of indifference and let her see everything.

"I already made my first and last vow. So instead I'll make a promise." He smiled sweetly and leaned towards her, their foreheads touching, "I promise to try my best and become the man worthy of your affection. This is our very first dance together, but I assure you… there are many more to come."

To Be Continued…

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**Coming Up Next: an extra 'what if' chapter while I'm working on the sequel **


	9. Chapter 9: What if I'm crazy about you

**Huge THANK YOU to all readers and reviewers! Here is a silly bonus chapter I promised.**

**Sorry it took so long to publish it, I was busy working on the plot for the sequel. And for some unexplained reason the sequel will also have a sequel. To quote Sherlock: "That just… sort of… happened."**

**The first chapter of the sequel will be posted sometimes next week.**

**This chapter is a result of a review by _lil. ramen__. __lover _who thought it would have been hilarious if Molly reacted differently. I loved the idea and voila! Enjoy!**

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It was dark when Molly Hooper entered her flat which wasn't surprising since she lived alone once more but what was surprising was the smell that should be there. She could smell food; something baked that smelled delicious, and flowers. Lots of flowers considering how strong the fragrant was.

It made her curious and a tiny bit suspicious. So she did the only thing that made sense at the moment. As quietly as possible she moved back and out of her flat and then closed the door with a barely heard 'click' before rushing down the stairs.

Once she stepped back outside of the building Molly pulled out her cell phone and called the most competent person for this kind of thing. Greg Lestrade. He was a policeman and armed. And if there was someone in her flat, which she was certain of, he was a best person to deal with the intruder.

"Greg." She said after the DI answered his phone, "Where are you? I need you to get to my place as soon as possible."

"_Molly, what's wrong?"_ he easily recognized the distress in her voice_, "Did something happened? Are you alright?"_

"I'm fine Greg. I just got back to my flat and I think there is someone in there. I think… I think it's Tom."

At the mention of her former fiancé Greg Lestrade sighed, he only met the bloke few times and didn't have a high opinion of him. In fact he believed the younger man to be an idiot. He never said anything about it to Molly though. None of them did. Not even Sherlock who was always vocal when he deemed someone unworthy of his pathologist.

"_I was just on my way to the pub with some of the guys from the Yard. I'll be at your address in few minutes. Just hang in there and don't go inside."_ He paused before asking _"You aren't inside, are you?"_

"No, I left as soon as I noticed something was wrong. I'm in front of the building right now."

"_Alright. I'm not far away from Barts. I'll be there soon." _

"Thank you." Molly said and disconnected.

She turned towards the building and looked up towards her floor. It was pointless since her flat was facing the other side but she couldn't help herself.

* * *

Chilling wind mussed her hair and Molly shivered. She crossed her hands in front of herself and looked away, focusing on the road that led from Saint Bartholomew's Hospital towards her place of residence. Greg should be here soon and he'll make sure that everything is alright again.

Quickly she wondered what Tom was thinking breaking into her flat. She made it quite clear she wasn't interested in getting back together when he kept texting her that first week after they broke up. After she broke up with him. And then there is that accidental meeting today.

Tom always seemed like a confident person, a necessity when working with in a gallery and meeting a lot of eccentric artists, but today's encounter made him seem like an awkward teenager. Acting like he was in a wrong restaurant, mixing the genders of the person he's supposed to meet. And then there was the woman he met outside.

Did he honestly think she didn't notice him greeting the redhead that was in his flat that night, that he cheated on her with.

If he thinks he can break into her flat and try to make things better with some takeout dinner, that just happens to smell delicious, and a bouquet of flowers, although it smells inside like there is far more then just one, then he is wrong.

The headlights illuminated Molly for several moments before the car moved to the parking lot and stopped in the first available spot. The driver's door opened and Greg got out. He quickly walked towards her, fixing his gun holster with his right hand and clipping the badge to his belt with his left. Those movements seemed to come natural to him despite looking somewhat awkward to Molly.

"How are you holding up Molls?" he asked after stopping next to her and giving her a comforting hug.

"I want him out of my flat Greg!" she said, her anger clear in her voice, "This place is mine and mine alone. I don't want him to move my books because the titles aren't fitting when guests come or remove my quilt from the back of the sofa because it doesn't fit the bloody decor. I need you to make him leave! I don't want dinner or flowers! I don't want anything from him!"

"You got it Molly." He said with a small smile.

Greg followed Molly inside the entrance hall silently. He was still processing the things she just told him. Her books weren't fitting? She was a pathologist. What did that fool thought her books were about? Butterflies? Unicorns?

Molly stopped in front of her flat doors and turned back towards the detective inspector, "I haven't even locked them once I realized he was inside and before I called you."

"But they were locked before?" he asked.

"Yes. I locked them before going to a shopping center with Mary and they were locked when I returned." She answered before assign, "He doesn't have a key, I never gave anyone my spare one. And I haven't left it under the mat either in case you are wondering."

"I know you aren't foolish enough to do something like that." Greg assured her before pulling out his gun and gently pulling Molly behind so he can enter the flat first just in case.

The doors didn't creek when he opened them, something Greg was grateful for, and he stepped inside. He sensed Molly moving behind him and reaching with her left hand towards something he suspected to be the light switch.

Seconds later the light illuminated the sitting room and Molly gasped. She instantly noticed the changes in the large room, the coffee table moved from in front of the sofa to under the window and identical bouquets were placed on the table, the sideboard on her left and the mantle. And they looked oddly familiar.

At the sound of footsteps coming from the direction of the kitchen both the inspector and the pathologist moved towards the arch that linked the sitting room and the small kitchen. Seconds later a tall man in a morning suit stepped in their eyesight and frowned.

"I was just about to call you. Mary texted almost ten minutes ago that you were on your way up and you never arrived. I was starting to worry." Sherlock said to Molly before focusing on Greg, "And why are you here detective inspector?"

"Because Molly called me. She was certain a crazy guy broke into her apartment and made her dinner and she wanted me to kick him out. And guess what? She was right. A crazy guy did break in. What are you doing here Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at Molly, "I'm sorry. I wanted to surprise you. If my presence here makes you uncomfortable I'll leave."

Molly looked away from the consulting detective and instead focused on her shoes, "No. That's okay. You can stay."

"Molly?" Greg called her name and she glanced towards him.

"I'm sorry I overreacted. I… it never crossed my mind it could be someone else and not Tom."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock, who was wearing the suit he wore at the Watson's wedding for some unknown reason, before he looked back at the woman next to him, "It's alright. Better safe then sorry. And if this crazy one gives you any problems just give me a call and I'll take care of it."

Sherlock scowled and Molly laughed, "Thank you Greg."

Greg nodded and moved to leave the flat, sending Sherlock one last confused glance, before closing the door behind himself.

"That fool won't bother you again." Molly gasped as she heard Sherlock speak.

"What have you done?" she needed to know.

"Nothing. I haven't done anything." He answered honestly and then added, "Mycroft is keeping an eye on everyone and he noticed you had a silent shadow. So he took care of it."

"Tom was stalking me? For how long?" she couldn't believe what she just heard.

"Not long. And he won't do it again. My brother can be quite persuasive."

"Give Mycroft my thanks next time you speak to him." Molly said and he nodded automatically. She knew the chances of him actually relaying the message were rather slim.

"So…" Sherlock hesitated for a second before asking, "Hungry?"

* * *

It was an hour later, while they were dancing to the composition Sherlock wrote just for Molly, that his true motives for this night became known. He wanted to fix things between them, to make everything the way it was before. And then proceed from there.

"Sherlock-" she began to speak but gasped in surprise as the consulting detective gently cupped her cheek.

She looked directly into his eyes and saw tenderness she never noticed before, that he never allowed her to notice before. It seemed that for the very first time Sherlock Holmes allowed her to see the real him, not just by accident when he thought no one could see him, but voluntarily. It was a final proof of his faith in her. He removed the mask of indifference and let her see everything.

"I already made my first and last vow. So instead I'll make a promise." He smiled sweetly and leaned towards her, their foreheads touching, "I promise to try my best and become the man worthy of your affection. This is our very first dance together, but I assure you… there are many more to come."

* * *

**Thank you for reading**


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